


Target

by EllanaSan



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Murder Mystery, Pre-Canon, Slow Burn, Thriller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2020-09-24 15:47:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 63,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20361046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllanaSan/pseuds/EllanaSan
Summary: When the Games don't take place only in the arena and a mysterious psychopath is targetting escorts... What's a victor to do to keep his escort safe? Not that Haymitch cares. Not at all. Not even a  little bit. Ordoeshe?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’m baaaaaaaack! Did you miss me? I bet you didn’t! 
> 
> Sooo this story is a thriller/mystery of sort (although I’m so bad at it don’t be mad at me when I fail at the genre, clearly I’m better at anything BUT mysteries) and I hope you will enjoy it. It’s been gathering dust on my computer for months (if not years) now so it’s time to let it out into the world. There are 18 chapters in all (unless I decide to split one in two in the course of beta, you never know) and I plan on updating every Friday. YES it’s the return of the FRIDAY STORY! 
> 
> As a word of caution I would like to say that this story does comport some graphic violence although no more than my other stories. This is the hunger games, it goes with the territory. But it’s always better to get it out there ;)   
So stock up on snacks, pick your favorite comfort blanket because you will need it and allons-y, mes amis!

Waking up, for Haymitch, was more often than not a sluggish affair.

That morning – or at least, he _thought_ it was morning but that was never a given with him – he was torn from his alcohol induced slumber by people arguing. The only reason he didn’t jump on his feet and slashed with his knife – aside from the fact he was still too drunk to do any of that with any form of accuracy so it made more sense to lie low and assess the threat – was because he recognized one of the voices : high-pitched, annoying, already grating on his nerves... It could belong to only one person.

“It _is_ perfectly safe.” she was arguing. “For _me_, at least. Just stay back like I am telling you to.”

His hand twitched as he became more and more aware of his surroundings. He was happy to notice his fingers were wrapped around the handle of his knife – at least that was something... He was curled up on something hard, probably the floor: he didn’t think he had made it to his room the previous night, which meant he was still in the living-room. He must have fallen off the couch.

“Miss Trinket...” someone argued – a man and, Haymitch was pleased to note, whoever it was sounded just as irritated with her as _he_ always was.

He _wasn’t_ pleased by the fact there was a stranger in his house though. Who did she bring with her? And what did she bring them for? It _better not _be a camera crew. Or a prep team. It wouldn’t end well either way. He wasn’t in any mood to be tortured by beauticians or filmed right before a Reaping.

“Oh, would you _stop_?” she hissed. “I have been taking care of him for _years_. Stop this nonsense _right now_ and let me wake him up or we will be late to the Reaping and _that_ is absolutely out of the question.”

“Just let me take the knife away first.” the man insisted.

“I wouldn’t do that.” Haymitch and Effie said at the same time.

She huffed it and he mumbled it but the synchronized response was enough to make both of them roll their eyes.

Work with someone too long and you started to think alike.

Give it a few more years and Haymitch expected he would end up obsessed with fashion while she drank the days away.

He rolled on his back and opened his eyes, blinking against the harsh light pouring through the open windows – her doing, no doubt – and startled when he realized there wasn’t only _one_ stranger in his house but _three_ and that they weren’t a prep team like he had first confusedly thought but _Peacekeepers_ – and not Peacekeepers from Twelve either, real _Capitol_ Peacekeepers, complete with high-tech guns and heavy padded uniforms as if they were ready to face an army.

One of them, probably the leader given that he was the only one without a helmet, was standing between him and Effie, a hand raised to prevent her from approaching. She was looking just as ridiculous as usual : pink puffy dress, blue heels stripped with pink and a blue wig that wasn’t _so_ awful only for the simple reason that it lacked volume and matched her eyes.

“What’s going on?” he asked, slightly alarmed. He hauled himself to his feet, helping himself up by grabbing the upturned coffee table.

“Nothing.” Effie dismissed cheerfully. “Everything is _perfectly_ fine.”

He staggered a bit on his feet, his grey eyes darting from one man to the next, studying the leader’s blank expression and their tin soldiers stances. Effie moved as if to steady him, too used to dealing with him when he had a hangover not to know he was at risk of tripping, but the leader blocked her path once more, watching Haymitch with rapt attention. The Peacekeeper’s fingers were on the trigger of his gun and a chill ran down Haymitch’s spine. That guy wouldn’t hesitate a second before shooting. He knew the type. 

“Drop the knife first.” the man ordered.

He hadn’t realized he was still clutching it but the order coupled with the threatening behavior of the Peacekeepers triggered an instinctive reaction within him. Instead of complying with the man’s wishes, he adjusted his grip on the handle so he would be ready to use it if necessary.

“This is _ridiculous_, Albert!” Effie snapped, pushing the Peacekeeper aside. “Haymitch has _never_ hurt me before.”

“Albert?” he repeated, his eyebrows shooting up. “Albert-the-Peacekeeper?”

That sounded like a book for kids.

The man looked just as ridiculous as his name, though. A heap of hay blond hair cropped close to his skull, beetle dark eyes that were too small for the rest of his face, and slightly crooked teeth. The poster Peacekeeper.

“Do not be rude.” Effie sighed.

She held out her hand, palm up.

He simply stared at her.

“There are Peacekeepers in my house, Princess.” he pointed out.

“They are here for me, not for you.” she retorted. “And if you want them to lower their guns, you will have to give me the knife. I _do_ apologize for the intrusion but they wouldn’t wait outside. Albert is _quite_ stubborn.”

Haymitch frowned. _For her?_ He looked her up and down, but she seemed alright – not hurt, not afraid and not guilty. “What have you done?”

Her laughter sounded off – not just _fake_ like it often was but _off_. “Do not be preposterous, I have not done _a thing_. It is a new policy.”

“It’s a new policy for you to be shadowed by three Peacekeepers armed to the teeth?” he deadpanned.

Because they _were _armed to the teeth. The uniforms were bulletproof if he wasn’t mistaken, the helmets looked like they could handle an explosion and the guns… They had a big gun strapped over the shoulder, a handgun on their hip and the standard club on their other one. Those guys looked ready to face a riot or a very dangerous criminal. 

Except they were in Twelve and there would be no riots there.

As for a dangerous criminal…

He doubted Effie could have harmed a kitten if she had tried.

“Absolutely.” She flashed him a bright smile. “Your knife now if you will, we _are_ on a schedule here.”

He tossed the knife on the couch, sensing that if he brought it any closer to his escort than he already had, he would end up with a dozen bullets in his chest. He wasn’t risking giving it to her.

“I’m still drunk and this makes no sense.” he informed her.

“Well, color me unsurprised.” she scoffed. “_Now_. You need a shower. _And_ an emergency haircut, that goes _without_ saying. Up, up, _up_ you go! I brought a suit for you.”

He was manhandled up the stairs and into his bathroom by a pink tornado with blue hair. Albert-the-Peacekeeper followed them all the way to the shower where she turned the water on for him and checked the temperature. He was too annoyed at the intrusive presence shadowing their every move to even protest being babied like she always did when she was desperate to gain time.

The man’s eyes lingered on him, cold and assessing. Every time Haymitch so much as _brushed _against Effie, Albert-the-Peacekeeper tensed. He had the distinct feeling the guy would have liked nothing better than knocking him out and dragging him to the Square just like he was, shower and haircut be damned.

“You’re gonna watch me shower too?” he sneered at the Peacekeeper, as he slipped his shirt over his head. The swollen scar on his right side usually had some effect when seen for the first time and, for once, Haymitch bared it almost proudly – certainly _defiantly_. He didn’t like at all the slightly dismissive attitude of the Peacekeeper, as if he was just an annoying potential source of danger but not a real threat.

He was a victor. He _would _be taken seriously under his own _fucking_ roof.

Albert didn’t seem impressed and ignored him, turning to watch Effie with a clearly displeased expression. “Miss Trinket. _Again_, I must state this goes against all my orders.”

“I am aware and, trust me, I _am_ sorry but they should have planned for this. I still have a job to account for.” she hummed. “I will _not_ have my victor look like a street urchin at the Reaping. Goodness, his behavior is bad enough as it is.”

“I’m right here, you know.” he grumbled, his hands on his belt. He had half a mind to drop his pants just to make a point – and if it had been just her he would probably have gone ahead if only to make her rush out, mumbling obscenities about his improper barbarian ways under her breath – but the man’s stare wasn’t settling right with him. There was a difference between stripping down to rattle his escort and getting naked in front of a hostile stranger.“You mind getting the _fuck _out?”

“In a second, Haymitch.” She frowned, rummaging in the cupboard under the sink. “Do you even _own_ clean towels anymore?”

“There’s one behind the door.” he said. Albert-the-peacekeeper was standing on the threshold and Haymitch suddenly shoved him back before slamming the door right in his face and turning the lock. “Sorry!” he shouted. “I’m a clumsy drunk, you know!”

The man immediately started hammering on the door, ordering them to let him in.

Effie was looking at him with her lips pursed, her hands on her hips and her head tilted in disapproval. No trace of alarm on her face though.

“He will _not_ appreciate this stunt.” she pointed out. “He takes his job seriously. _Unlike_ _others_.”

“What did you do?” he asked, ignoring her gibe at his mentoring abilities. “Who did you piss off? How bad is it?”

Because he could make deals, he figured. If it wasn’t _too_ bad, maybe he could help. Not that he _cared_ about her but he, at least, _tolerated_ her and that was more than he could say for any of his previous escorts.

Plus, she might be hell on heels but he couldn’t argue she made his life easier. She did most of his job on top of hers. It had been years since he had been forced to worry about paperwork and she wasn’t _entirely_ terrible with the kids. Everyone wanted Effie promoted to their own District. _Everyone_. The only reason she was still in Twelve after so long was because she was the only escort who had managed to control him since his victory – that and while he publicly advocated he wanted her gone, he had more or less warned the successive Head Gamemakers he would raise hell if she was transferred. She was one of the only competent escorts currently working for the Games, he wasn’t about to let her get snatched by another District. .

So he certainly _wasn’t_ going to lose her to trigger-happy Peacekeepers either.

Whatever she had done… They could probably fix it. _Hopefully_. He had contacts, he still had some popularity points to play… He could try to help her get out of whatever mess she had buried herself into.

She shook her head in denial. “I did not anger _anyone_. I _told_ you, it is _simply_ a new policy. I am not the only one, all escorts have been assigned a security team.” She reached past him to unlock the door before Albert had a chance to _actually _kick it down – and not for lack of trying given the imprints his boot had left on the white paint. The Peacekeeper was red in the face and glared at them. “There, there, Albert...” Effie cajoled. “No need to put yourself in such a state. I am _perfectly_ safe with Haymitch.”

If the brutal way the Peacekeeper pulled her out of the bathroom by the arm was any indication, he didn’t believe that for one second.

“You don’t leave my sight.” the man barked. “_Ever_.”

Effie flinched.

And as much as he disliked his escort, Haymitch hated it when men with stupid names made women flinch.

“Hey, it’s _my_ fault.” Haymitch growled. “Pick on someone your size.”

The Peacekeeper looked like he wanted to do _just _that. Haymitch straightened up when he took a step closer, hands closing into fists, more than ready to hit him…

“_Alright_.” Effie said firmly, planting herself between them. “There is absolutely _no_ need for all this testosterone display. Haymitch, go take your shower and _wash your hair_. Albert, we are going back down to the kitchen.”

She left the room and Albert trailed after her like a well-trained puppy but not without tossing him another glare.

Haymitch was always in a bad mood on Reaping days but that particular Reaping took the cake as far as he was concerned, and once he was done with the shower and dressed in the suit she had left on his bed, he sneaked a mouthful of liquor from the bottle on his nightstand.

When he came back downstairs, he noticed one of the Peacekeepers had moved to the front door, clearly standing guard. He could hear the third one roaming around the house, no doubt being nosy or hiding bugs – which he would have to search for once he would be back. As for Albert-the-Peacekeeper, his voice greeted him as he got closer to the kitchen. “I wasn’t aware being an escort meant playing housekeeper.”

“Haymitch is a special case.” Effie answered.

“A _nutcase_.” the man scorned.

Haymitch rolled his eyes, not at all bothered by what everyone thought about him.

“Behave.” his escort chided the Peacekeeper. Her tone was a mix of amusement and fondness that was usually reserved for him. _That_ made him frown and he stepped in the kitchen, not surprised to see that Effie had made a quick job of the dirty plates and pans, but annoyed to find Albert sitting at his kitchen table, nursing a cup of freshly brewed coffee as if he had been _invited_. “Couldn’t you wrap your hair in a towel?” she complained when she caught sight of him. “Your collar is damp now. No matter, no matter... We do not have time to dwell. _Sit_.”

She was a hurricane and he had learned long ago that when he was nursing a hangover, it was easier to submit than to resist. He sat down on the opposite side of the table from Albert and was treated to a cup of coffee – he didn’t know _where_ she had found coffee given his empty cupboards but it was possible she had brought it from the train – a pastry – that _definitely_ came from the train – and two familiar pills – one was aspirin, the other was meant to sober him up. He toyed with that last one, unwilling to give up the small comfort of being buzzed.

“Please, Haymitch, we are off-schedule already. We do _not_ have time to argue about this.” she insisted.

He rolled his eyes but swallowed the pills and even remained still while she quickly trimmed his hair. It was reaching his shoulders and she kept muttering under her breath as she shortened it to his chin.

“One day, you will get here and I will have shaved my head and _then_ you will have something to complain about.” he grumbled.

“I will simply glue a wig to your head once you pass out and we will see who will be complaining then.” she threatened.

Albert snorted and she rewarded the Peacekeeper with a warm smile.

It annoyed Haymitch to no end.

“So why this new policy?” he asked. The sobering pill was efficient, always was, and now that his brain wasn’t clouded by liquor, he found the whole thing to be even fishier than before. “Too many Peacekeepers who couldn’t tell their heads from their asses? I heard bodyguards are all muscles and no brains...”

“Haymitch.” Effie rebuked him, whacking his shoulder.

“Funny.” Albert retorted. “I heard the same about victors.”

“Would you two stop?” she lamented. “We will all be working in close quarters soon enough. This is quickly going to be unbearable if you do not learn to get along.”

“Yeah?” Haymitch smirked. “Exactly _how_ _close_ are those quarters you two are working in?”

Because the man wasn’t her type at all so it was weird for her to be acting so sweet and cozy. And Haymitch _didn’t_ like her attitude. He didn’t like it _one bit_. It almost looked as if she was _enamored _with that guy.

“Haymitch, do not be crass.” she scolded him.

“You could have warned me he was the jealous type, Effie.” Albert mocked.

“Do not be ridiculous, he is not jealous.” she replied. “He simply likes getting a rise out of me.”

“I bet.” Albert deadpanned.

The look the Peacekeeper tossed him over the rim of _his own fucking mug _ was too knowing by far. Well, he had the wrong idea. Haymitch would never have touched Effie, not even if she were the last woman in Panem. She was too annoying, too… _Capitol_. And… 

“She’s my escort. I need her focused, that’s all.” Haymitch sneered. “Wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you though. You’re poorer than what she usually goes for and ugliness ain’t one of her kinks.”

Heap of blond hair, big nose, thick lips... The guy wouldn’t win any beauty contest. _And_ _yet_, a little voice whispered at the back of his head, the two of them looked so at ease with each other… 

“_Haymitch_.” she growled. “I am going to _kill_ you if you do not start minding your manners. You _cannot _say things like that.”

“Promises, promises...” he taunted.

She didn’t take the bait and cheerfully declared it was time to head to the Square anyway. He didn’t bother packing a bag, knowing she would have ordered a full wardrobe for him. He offered her his arm once they were outside, purely out of habit since she had this annoying tendency of clinging to him every time they went out in public – he had been lectured a thousand times about gentlemanly behavior but he thought it had more to do with those impossibly high heels of hers.

He was surprised to notice her fingers were shaking.

He frowned. “You’re okay?”

He had known her for eight years now and if he had learned _anything_, it was that she was very good at keeping up a front.

“Yes, naturally.” she laughed. It sounded off again, and her eyes kept darting around as they set off on the path to the Square. The three Peacekeepers had fallen around them in a practiced manner, two at the front, one at the back. They kept a sharp watch, sharper than a walk through Twelve should warrant.

She had gone from the train to his house and back to the Square alone on Reaping Days for years without encountering a single problem. Nobody in the District would have _dared _attack a Capitol envoy. He really didn’t get what the fuss was about.

“Liar.” he accused.

Her smile faltered for a second but she shrugged. “I do not know what you are talking about.”

The shrug in itself was a tell. If you minded your manners, as he had been informed a thousand times, you _didn’t_ shrug.

There were more Peacekeepers at the Square than usual and they too were more heavily armed than the ones from Twelve. _Capitols, _then. One of them approached Albert-the-Peacekeeper as soon as they came into view.

“The Square’s secured, sir.” the newcomer said with a quick salute.

“Are you certain?” Effie asked, surprising Haymitch. She sounded _scared_.

And it turned out that his escort looking scared made him want to strangle whoever had put that expression on her face. _Weird_. Who would have guessed?

“Okay, what’s _fucking_ going on?” he snapped.

“Nothing that concerns you.” Albert shot back, dismissing the other officer with a wave of his hand. “It’s perfectly safe, Effie.”

“But it was an arrow.” she whispered, to Haymitch’s utter puzzlement. Her nails were digging painfully in the flesh of his arm but, for once, he didn’t complain. “I am the only one with a long range weapon...”

“That doesn’t mean anything and you know it.” Albert argued. “I _promise_ you you’re safe. The whole town’s been secured. You were risking more going off to his house.” He nodded at Haymitch. “We’re in a District anyway. There’s _no way_ anything will happen. You’re as safe as can be here. I will be right behind you the whole time, alright?”

“What’s going on?” Haymitch growled again, covering her hand with his to catch her attention.

Her lips immediately stretched into a bright smile that didn’t reach her eyes. They were wide and blue and, he couldn’t help but notice, absolutely _terrified_.

“I am just being silly.” she lied – _again_. They were off to a good start that year, what’s with all the lying. “Let’s get up on stage before we are _truly_ late.”

“Silly, my ass.” he grumbled, letting her lean on him as she climbed the stairs with some difficulties due to her towering heels. “What was that about arrows? Someone threatened you? I _knew_ I couldn’t be the only one in the country who wants to murder you.”

He had meant the last part as a joke but the look she gave him, however brief, chilled him to the bones. She swallowed and looked away, letting go of his arm to walk directly to the mic.

He frowned. “What about the Mayor’s speech?”

“The Reapings are being cut short this year.” Albert-The-Peacekeeper informed him before taking place not too far behind Effie. Out of sight of the cameras, Haymitch noticed, but close enough to reach her quickly if needed.

_Cut short_ was an understatement.

There were none of the usual speeches, she didn’t leave any room for suspense and didn’t use any of her favorite theatrics. She grabbed a card from the girls bowl, read the name out lout and moved directly to the boy’s bowl before the girl was even on stage. She didn’t stop smiling once but Haymitch could tell she was tense.

He gave their tributes a glance but knew from the start the fourteen year old girl and the fifteen year old boy wouldn’t make it. Tanya and Rye. Two names that would soon join the endless list of kids he had failed, he mused.

He didn’t have much time to ponder that. They were all rushed inside the Justice Building as soon as Effie had announced the tributes and then guided to a separate sitting room while the kids made their goodbyes. It wasn’t the usual protocol and there were _far_ too many Peacekeepers in the room for his liking. _The two of them_ weren’t supposed to be parked around like tributes, _the two of them_ were supposed to be free for the half hour before the train left.

He wanted to press Effie for answers again but knew she wouldn’t give them with so many people around. As it was, she had sat down on an armchair, ankles crossed and hands clasped together on her knees in the pose of the perfect lady… Her eyes betrayed her though. They were lost in the distance.

Since there was a decanter of amber liquid in easy reach, he poured himself a glass and, after a small moment of hesitation, handed her another one. Whatever was happening, he knew it was bad when she mechanically took it and downed it without even a glance. She never drank whisky if she could help it and she _certainly_ never gulped it down in one long mouthful.

It had the unforeseen bonus of making her fingers stop shaking though.

The goodbyes must have been cut short too because only ten minutes had passed before they were all escorted to a single car that rushed in the direction of the train station. Escort and mentor usually travelled in one car and the tributes in another – another breach in normalcy, he mused.

Effie went back to her old self in the car, chatting nonstop and trying to put a positive spin on the tributes’ reaping, trying to lift their spirits... He couldn’t be bothered. The girl kept looking at her feet and the boy stared through the window the whole way. Neither said anything.

There were no cameras waiting on the station platform – another item on a list of weird things – but there _were_ more Peacekeepers. How many had she brought with her? For a security team, it looked excessive. More like an entire platoon than a squad.

“Officer Stanton!” one of them shouted as soon as Twelve’s team appeared. Albert briskly walked away and another Peacekeeper immediately took his place in the defensive formation around them.

_Albert Stanton_, Haymitch scoffed internally, was there ever a more ridiculous name? Whatever the other Peacekeeper had to say to him, it didn’t seem to agree with Albert-The-Peacekeeper. His curse was loud in the distance and he rubbed the back of his neck before tossing a guilty glance at Effie over his shoulder.

“Let’s get back inside the station.” Effie suddenly said, her fingers clenching his arm. “I do not want to be in the open. Let’s go back inside.”

“The train’s right there, sweetheart.” he pointed out, waving at the living-room car they hadn’t been allowed to approach for the moment.

And yet, given the frenzy of Peacekeepers swarming around it, he doubted they _would_ be allowed on it anytime soon.

“Please.” she whined.

The tributes were giving her curious looks and she seemed scared beyond measure so he nodded his assent and they quickly retreated to the small shed that passed for a station’s waiting room around those parts. The Peacekeepers dutifully followed without asking questions or making any comment. They were better trained than Albert, he decided. 

He told the kids to sit on the plastic chairs and pulled her to the side.

“There’s someone after you.” he deduced.

Her fake smile was gone and her eyes were darting around. She never let go of his arm. Not once. Not even a little. If anything, she seemed to cling to it _harder_. It wasn’t about her needing help to walk with her heels anymore or gentlemanly _bullshit_ – she was holding on to him for _dear life_. 

“There’s a change of plans!” Albert-the-Peacekeeper loudly declared for everyone to hear. He walked in like he owned the place and immediately stopped at Effie’s side like he belonged there. It was instinctive for Haymitch to draw Effie even closer to him than she already was even though he couldn’t have explained why. “We’re going back to the cars. There’s a hovercraft on its way. It will be here by the time we reach the meadow outside of town.”

“Hovercraft?” Haymitch repeated, dumbfounded. It was the first time he could remember that tributes would be brought to the Capitol by hovercraft. It would certainly make the journey an easier one though. Three or four hours instead of a whole day ride.

“Who?” Effie asked in a weak voice.

“Miss Trinket...” Albert sighed.

“Albert, _who_?” she snapped. “There is no use hiding it from me, I will find out soon enough.”

Albert-the-Peacekeeper pursed his lips in a tight annoyed line and then shrugged. “Four. I’m sorry.”

She let out a shaky breath, her nails dug in Haymitch’s flesh even more painfully than before and her eyes became brighter than usual but if there were actual tears, she quickly blinked them away.

“Alright.” she said flatly. “Let’s get the children back into the car.”

No matter how many times Haymitch asked, his questions remained unanswered…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo what do you think is up? (well if you read the summary you know what's up XD) Do you like Albert? Who thinks Haymitch will punch him before the end of the story, raise your hand? What do you think will happen next? What happened in Four? Will you be alright waiting a whole week for the answer? Are you excited? Let me know your thoughts I want to hear everything!


	2. Chapter 2

The silence in that hovercraft was deafening and Haymitch _couldn’t_ take it anymore.

Nobody would explain anything.

Effie simply sat there, her shoulders slouched in a way she would never have allowed herself in normal circumstances, her eyes slightly glassy. Albert-the-Peacekeeper was sitting next to her, a little more relaxed than previously, and Haymitch was on her other side, keeping an eye on the kids since it seemed his escort was slacking at her job.

The two of them obviously knew each other and were talking in a low voice, not as panicked or desperate as Haymitch had feared, which was good since he had been informed they would collect Eleven’s and Ten’s teams on the way. The train ride to the Capitol was long but useful for one thing: it allowed tributes to come to terms with the fact they were going into the Games, it allowed them some time before being tossed into the frying pan. Those two wouldn’t have that advantage and there would be no second chances at first impression. If they were perceived as easy preys…

Effie startled when he stood up a little abruptly and she looked up at him with a confused gaze. He held out a hand. “Come on, we’re taking a walk.” She slowly placed her hand in his and let him help her to her feet. Albert got up too but Haymitch glared. “So what? She can’t even take a piss without you looking over her shoulder. We’re in a _fucking _flying box. What do you think’s gonna happen?”

The Peacekeeper opened his mouth but Effie lifted her free hand to prevent any outburst. “Not in front of the children. I will stay in your line of sight.”

They moved to the little window a few feet away. It didn’t afford them the privacy he had hoped for – even though the tributes weren’t paying them any attention, which was already something.

“What’s going on?” His voice was a growl but it carried to Albert who joined them in a flash.

It was going to get tiring _very_ fast. Haymitch wasn’t used to sharing his escort, he was used to Effie being available at all times of day and certainly not shadowed by irritating men with ridiculous names who stood too close to her and laughed with her like they were old friends.

He didn’t have another victor to share the burden with. Effie was _it_. She was his ally, his _partner. _He needed her focused. He needed her at her full potential. There were days he thought he needed her full point but that wasn’t an area of thoughts he was comfortable exploring.

“You can’t tell him anything, Miss Trinket.” the Peacekeeper warned.

Effie’s eyes fell on the kids who were now tossing them curious glances and dragged both men into the small corridor, out of hearing range.

“This is _idiotic_, Albert.” she declared. “I understand the need to keep it from the public but…”

“We have our orders.” the man argued. 

Haymitch rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well… I’m not a soldier and I don’t care much for orders. Someone tells me what’s _fucking_ going on or I swear…”

He left that empty threat hanging – not that it impressed either of them.

“You do _not_ understand how _closely_ mentors and escorts work together.” Effie hissed, pursing her lips in that annoyed way of hers. She was glaring too and Haymitch was suddenly glad that it was Albert at the receiving end of her anger and not him. “I cannot _sneeze_ without Haymitch asking if I caught a cold. How do you except us to keep the whole thing from our victors? It is absolutely _undoable_. As soon as Finnick reaches the Capitol…” She abruptly fell silent and looked away. “We cannot hide this from them. And I refuse to hide anything from Haymitch. I trust him.”

That declaration took him a little by surprise but when her blue eyes briefly darted to him, he straightened a little as if instinctively rising up to the challenge. He couldn’t explain that reaction to himself because he couldn’t care less about her, could he? He only cared about her skills. That was it.

“Effie…” the Peacekeeper shook his head – and Haymitch didn’t miss just how easily he switched from _Miss Trinket_ to _Effie _when it suited him. “I’m sorry about your friend, _I am_, but Odair will be briefed and…”

“I trained Della. I showed her the ropes.” Effie cut him off. “She was _more_ than my _friend_. And she was _far _too young.”

Della was Finnick’s escort, Haymitch recalled belatedly, and earlier they had talked about Four and…

“Della’s dead?” he deduced. Effie had said Peacekeepers shadowing escorts was a new policy, that it wasn’t just her… Suddenly, it all made sense. “_Fuck_, is someone targeting _escorts_?”

Albert sighed as if Haymitch was the personal bane of his existence. Effie simply waved at him in a matter of fact way.

“Do not let the alcohol fool you, Albert. Haymitch _is_ clever.” she huffed, before turning to him. “It is not just Della. Erika, Fulgentia, Gerty and Prudence too.”

Nine, Five, One and Three.

That made _five_ dead escorts. That was _a lot_.

“Impossible.” he scoffed. “You have all those fancy security things in the Capitol…”

“The man’s a ghost.” Albert admitted. “We can’t catch him. Perfect crimes every time. He’s never been spotted, not even once.”

“It started three months ago.” Effie added. “Erika was the first. We all thought it was an isolated case, you know how she was… She had her problems.” And by that she meant drugs, Haymitch figured. “It was kept quiet for her family’s sake, they cleaned up everything and said it was an accident… But then a month later, it was Fulgentia’s turn and that time… That time, Viola found her and there was no hiding _anything_… It was so gruesome, according to her…”

She shivered and he reached for her at the same time Albert did. The Peacekeeper was quicker and Haymitch glared at him until he took his hand away. Effie went on, either unaware of the silent war or not caring enough to stop talking.

“They assigned Peacekeeper squads to us at that point. Albert has been protecting me ever since…” she continued. That made two months with the guy, no wonder they were acting so comfortable around each other, he mused. He couldn’t help but wonder just _how _comfortable they were though. “It did not save Gerty. She was murdered too. So they moved us into the Training Center. I have been living in the penthouse for almost a month and a half already. For a while we thought we were safe there but… But then _Prudence_…”

“Prudence Aldercott was found dead on Three’s floor.” Albert supplied.

“In the _Training_ _Center_?” he asked.

He didn’t _gasp_ but it was a close thing. The Training Center was probably the most secured building in the country after the Presidential Mansion. There were Peacekeepers at every entrance, sponsors were allowed in certain parts of the Games compound but not _everywhere_, only mentors and escorts were free to access the elevators to the apartments at any time. Oh, it was all tactful and well hidden not to offend any Capitol’s sensibilities but security _was _there. The place was a fortress with hidden levels deep below ground. All victors knew that.

“You can understand why we kept everything from the public now.” the Peacekeeper sighed. “We want to avoid panic.”They are replacing us one after the other.” Effie whispered, her voice flat. “They just take another doll out of her box and replace the broken model… I used to do that when I was a child too…” She blinked and shook her head. “It is getting difficult to find replacements though. There are rumors flying around in certain social circles. It is hard to explain so many escorts suddenly disappearing, they have given excuses, nobody knows Gerty and Prudence are dead but…” She sighed and waved that away with irritation. “There _are_ rumors. And perhaps someone would risk their life to be the escort of a prestigious District but who would do it for _Twelve_? If I am next…”

“You’re not gonna be next.” Haymitch snapped right as Albert said. “That’s not happening.”

The two men glared at each other again.

That guy was rubbing off on Haymitch the wrong way.

“Look, you’ve got Albert-the-Peacekeeper and me to protect you.” Haymitch shrugged, keeping his voice casual because offering his protection to a Capitol wasn’t something he ever thought he would do. He told himself it was to avoid the hassle of having to train a new escort – because, _yeah, _when it came to him it _was_ training : training to leave him alone, training not to wake him when he had his knife on him, training not to get _too much_ on his nerves… “Everything’s gonna be fine.”

Effie’s blue eyes locked with his, wide and frightened. “You do not understand. He kills us like our last tribute was killed. That means an arrow for me.”

“Then we keep you indoors.” he countered.

“You _cannot_.” she argued. “What about the Opening Ceremony? And the sponsors?”

“They’re gonna arrest the guy sooner or later, sweetheart.” he insisted. “Right?”

That question was directed at the Peacekeeper who took a second too long to answer. “Right.”

Effie let out a breath that was almost a whine and walked a few feet away to the small window. She kept her back on them but Haymitch could hear her ragged breathing and the efforts she was making to keep herself collected.

“What does he want?” Haymitch frowned, lowering his voice enough that only Albert-the-Peacekeeper would hear him. “That guy? Why is he doing this?”

Albert shrugged. “At first we thought it was an anti-Capitol conspiracy but… It seems he’s just a psychopath. I don’t know any more, I’m assigned to Miss Trinket’s protection not to the investigation.”

Haymitch nodded and glanced at Effie. “How’s she holding on?”

_Not_ _that_ _he_ _cared_, he had to repeat to himself, but it couldn’t be easy to have friends of hers being murdered in what he assumed to be gruesome ways.

And Eleven’s escort had _found _Fulgentia. Viola had been his escort for a brief year before Effie came along and he could imagine the woman hadn’t spared the others any details of what she had seen. She was that kind of women. 

“It’s hard but she’s tough.” Albert replied with enough admiration in his voice that Haymitch narrowed his eyes at him. “She’s an amazing woman.”

Haymitch wisely chose not to answer that.

Not that he necessarily disagreed. Effie _was _tough. He didn’t know about _amazing_ but he would never have denied that she was _strong. _He just didn’t like the way the Peacekeeper was looking at her. Two months in close quarters with Effie Trinket… He figured it had taken men less than that to fall head over heels for her.

If more proof was needed, it became _very_ clear the situation was _serious_ when Eleven’s team finally got on board. If Effie Trinket and Viola Summercket were scared to the point of _hugging each other_, it was _bad_. Hell was probably freezing over. Chaff watched the – short – embrace, lifted his eyebrows and then clapped him on the shoulder once with his stump as a hello.

“She told you?” his friend asked, after Seeder had given him the mandatory hug.

“Yeah.” Haymitch shrugged. “You?”

“Spilled the beans before she even said hello.” Chaff snorted. “Not that she _ever_ really says hello…”

It was a tight fit in the hovercraft in between mentors, escorts and Peacekeepers and it only became even more cramped when Ten’s team came on board. The only good thing that came out of that debacle was that the kids all started talking and Haymitch thought there were hopes of making an alliance. Who knew, lucky strikes happened.

The three escorts were agitated and spent the whole trip huddled in one corner, talking between themselves, occasionally grabbing each other’s hands and very much attempting to keep their emotions under check.

It made the mentors uneasy. They all remained mostly quiet in their corner, occasionally tossing glances toward the Capitols and starting conversations about the weather or what they had been up to since the Tour or the previous season. 

It was even worse once they actually reached the Capitol. They landed directly on the Center’s roof. The good thing was it meant Twelve was already at home, the bad thing was they were all asked to wait in the penthouse for the time being while a team of Peacekeepers made sure the building was clear.

They were searching the entire Training Center, Haymitch mused, but he didn’t see how one man could strike in District Four and then come back to the Capitol easy as you pleased. It didn’t make sense. There had to be _a group_ or…

Other teams had arrived before them and he and Effie found their living-room under siege. One’s and Two’s mentors were lounging on the couches like they belonged there, Three’s were on the armchairs, Five’s and Six’s were on the floor in front of the fireplace… Escorts were apparently all gathered in the dining-room and Effie, Viola and Sofia disappeared in that direction followed by their Peacekeepers shadows as soon as they arrived, leaving Haymitch to deal with their two tributes and the sea of unwanted guests.

They certainly had made themselves at home.

The liquor cart wasn’t as furnished as it usually was.

He poured himself a drink, trying not to resent the fact Tanya and Rye were sticking close to him like ducklings to their mother. Career tributes were all sitting together under the bay windows, laughing and joking – _crazy _teenagers who would make _crazy_ mentors who would latter lime their teeth into fangs – as for the rest of the kids, they were either with their mentors or hesitantly making friends with other teams.

“Go meet people.” Haymitch told Rye. “Try to test the waters. See what you can learn but don’t give anything away. And… this is your turf, okay? The penthouse’s ours. You don’t let them intimidate you.”

It was Tanya who nodded and Tanya who dragged Rye by the hand to another group of tributes. She flashed the other kids a bright smile and introduced them with an easiness that made Haymitch recalculate. He had been betting on the boy but now his interest turned to the girl.

“I’m torn between not caring and being annoyed at the disruption.” Chaff snorted, coming to a stop next to him to pour himself a drink of his own. “I always prep my kids after the Reaping recap. It’s easier on the train.”

“You can prep them just as well here.” he remarked. “But if your escort gets killed, what will you do?”

“Throw a party?” Eleven’s mentor joked.

Haymitch considered how having Viola for an escort had been and winced, toasting his friend. “Point.”

“They’d give us a new one. Probably won’t even notice the difference.” Chaff shrugged.

The invasion of the penthouse lasted for hours. Time enough for Finnick and Mags to _finally _make an appearance and be harassed by a ton of questions from everyone present.

The escorts had trickled back in and between the tributes, the mentors, the Capitols and the Peacekeepers, it was far too crowded for Haymitch’s tastes. He stole one of the last remaining bottles and escaped to his room.

He flopped on the bed and stared at the ceiling, occasionally sipping from the bottle and wondering why his life always had to be so _fucking_ complicated. As if the Games weren’t bad enough…

He was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to care that someone was taking out escorts one after the other in weird reenactments of the last year’s Hunger Games but… He _did _care. Most of those women were annoying, self-centered and obnoxious but there was the occasional nice one in the midst. Prudence, for instance. Three’s escort had always been kind – sure, she had also been crazy enough to get a hedgehog tattooed on her cheek but she _had_ always been kind to everyone, mentors and tributes alike. He knew Beetee and Wiress liked her a lot and it made him curious as to what his friends thought about the whole thing.

Chaff’s reaction wasn’t surprising and he didn’t think he would be the only victor feeling that way. Some of them liked their escorts, though. Some of them considered them _friends_.

He hadn’t been lying down for ten minutes before the door opened and closed.

Effie sat on the edge of the bed next to him after only a second of hesitation and she let out a long deep breath, fingers digging in the edge of the mattress so hard it left indentations on the covers.

“Where’s your bodyguard?” he challenged.

And immediately regretted it. He wasn’t sure what was up with him.

He was too used to _not_ sharing her during the Games season. She was driven and dedicated and usually she was all _his_ to annoy and tease for weeks on end and…

_And that guy looks at her like he wants to make love to her and give her five babies_, a little voice supplied at the back of his head.

But he didn’t care about _that_.

He _didn’t_.

Sure, there was _an attraction_ between the two of them. There had been from the start. Sexual tension and all that jazz. It was born from hours of fighting and shouting at each other – and her liking for tight dresses – and more than once they had found themselves in each other’s space, breath mingling and lips tingling from the very little distance they were never willing to cross…

So, _yeah_.

He was attracted to her.

She was attracted to him.

But they had never acted on it.

And they _wouldn’t_.

Because she was an escort and he hated her and…

He _really_ didn’t like the thought of Albert-the-Peacekeeper’s hands on her.

It wasn’t jealousy. Of course, it _wasn’t_.

Except it was. A little. 

“I slipped away.” she confessed. “If I hear another word about security protocols or poor Della, I am going to _scream_.”

He handed her the bottle. She only hesitated a second before taking it and swallowing some liquor.

It didn’t happen often – not to say it must have happened only once or twice on particularly bad days after a tribute’s death – but when she was upset enough to drink directly from the bottle, Haymitch always felt a little constricted in his pants. It was hot to see the normally polished and refined Effie Trinket doing something so _plebeian_. It was hot to watch her toss her head back, to watch her throat work when she swallowed, to wonder how it would feel if those lips closed on something else…

“He’s dedicated.” Haymitch remarked, chasing those thoughts from his mind. “Smitten with you, too.”

She rolled her eyes. “We have become friends, that is all.”

“Sure, sweetheart.” he mocked. A touch too aggressively maybe. But he had seen the way she acted with the Peacekeeper and it wasn’t her usual cool polite behavior. She was at ease with the guy, _comfortable_ with him in a way he hadn’t seen her be with a lot of people over the years. Except for him. 

“Please, Haymitch.” She scowled. “He sleeps on a cot at the foot of my bed. We are in each other’s presence twenty-four hours a day. It was either being best friends or killing each other. You _know_ how I _hate_ people telling me what to do and trying to _control_ me.”

There was only one information in that speech he took note of. In retrospect, it was probably telling. “He sleeps in your bedroom.”

“On a cot. At the foot of my bed.” she repeated calmly, watching him with rapt attention. “Why? Does it bother you?”

“Why would it bother me?” he retorted quickly. A little _too_ quickly.

“I was not thrilled about it.” she admitted. “But Prudence was killed in her bedroom with Peacekeepers standing right in front of the door. They did not hear _anything_. It is only when she was late the next morning that…” She stopped and blinked furiously at the tears that were threatening to spill. “I am _scared_ to be in the bathroom by myself now so I made my peace with having a Peacekeeper sleeping at the foot of my bed or seeing me without make-up.”

Jealousy flared in his chest at that piece of news and he didn’t even bother denying it was what it was. _He _had never been privy to seeing her without make-up or wig. And he had been _trying _to catch her without them for _years. _

He quenched the feeling down though. There really was more urgent right now. 

“No need to be scared in your bathroom. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind taking showers with you.” he grumbled anyway. “You should see the way he looks at you.”

“Are you jealous?” she asked, exasperated.

“Of course _not_.” he growled. “He’s just _fucking_ annoying. He’s hovering around you like…”

“A bodyguard?” she supplied.

“A _shitty_ bodyguard if it takes him this long to notice you’re gone.” he snapped. She had been there for close to ten minutes now and she wasn’t exactly inconspicuous to begin with. How long did it take for a guy to notice that the pretty woman in the puffy pink dress was gone, seriously? “You’ll be safer with me.”

Her lips twitched and, underneath the exhaustion he could read on her face, he glimpsed amusement. “Do you really think that or are you just desperate for me to allow you into my shower?”

“Please.” he scoffed. “I could sneak into your shower and we both know you would let me.”

That was taking the banter a little too far, they were dangerously close to a line they were always careful not to cross.

“You are _awfully_ confident.” she taunted. “You would not manage to sneak into my shower anyway. You would have to get past a bulky bodyguard first.”

He sat up, which brought him in her space. She didn’t flinch or move back, she stared right back at him, a defiant spark in her eyes. 

“Is that a dare?” he whispered, his breath rolling on her lips.

She licked them and his eyes darted to her mouth.

Before she could say anything though, the door was slammed open, making them both startle.

Albert was standing on the threshold, his two Peacekeepers friends in tow, looking absolutely _furious_.

Albert-the-Peacekeeper pointed an accusing finger at them, a nasty sneer on his face. “_Don’t_ sneak out on me again.”

“Don’t talk to her like that.” Haymitch spat before he could stop himself.

Nobody talked to her like that in front of him. There were _rules_ when it came to a guy’s escort and the main one was not to cross the line. Effie could handle herself and he was usually happy to watch when she ended up in a verbal joust with some other victor but… There was a line that shouldn’t be crossed and Haymitch had always made it very clear: she wasn’t to be threatened or shouted at like this. What went for his friends, went for gorilla-Peacekeepers. 

“It is alright, Haymitch.” Effie said, subdued. “I _did_ sneak out on him.”

“Doesn’t mean he gets to boss you around like that when it took him almost fifteen minutes to notice.” he retorted, glaring at the man.

“It didn’t take me fifteen minutes to notice, your room wasn’t my first idea.” Albert glared. “If this is a thing…”

“It is _not_ a thing.” Effie hurriedly denied, bolting to her feet. “What are you even implying? _Truly_. What a _ridiculous_ notion. There is no_ thing_.”

Haymitch flopped back down with a vexed snort. She shot him an apologetic glance that he ignored.

_Whatever_.

“I should go back to the living-room.” she declared. “It is not done for the hostess to disappear like this…”

As if they were having a cocktail party instead of a crisis reunion.

“You do that.” he scowled.

“Haymitch…” she winced.

“Bye, sweetheart.” He took a swing of whiskey, putting an end to that line of discussion.

He didn’t even look at her when she left the room.

Let Albert-the-Peacekeeper deal with her.

Watch if he cared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you too think "I don't care" is going to be Haymitch's theme song in this fic? XD So how long do you think before that shower happens? And more importantly... How long till the next murder?


	3. Chapter 3

Albert managed to keep his peace long enough for the stylists to come pick the children up after breakfast and, for that, Effie supposed, she ought to be grateful. He had yet to say anything about her escape to Haymitch’s room the previous day but she knew he was dying to and she resented being given the cold shoulder for that long when they were all adults – although, she had been feeling like a child with a babysitter since the whole thing started so she probably shouldn’t have been surprised by the Peacekeeper’s behavior.

Instead of confronting him, she had chosen to focus on what she could control: her escorting duties.

The schedule was completely disrupted and she wasn’t the only one a little unsure about what she should be doing. She had already spoken to Two’s and Five’s escorts that morning and she had also phoned Four’s floor to make sure Finnick and his tributes didn’t need anything. She had been told they had been assigned a replacement, a rising actress named Alyssa, and it made Effie wonder if they had a stock of would-be escorts ready to be plucked out from each time one of them died.

Nevertheless, as far as she could tell, for the Capitol it was business as usual. Caesar had spun a convincing lie about damages on the railway not too far from the city hence the switch from trains to hovercrafts and people had bought it hook, line and sinker.

The Opening Ceremony would be taking place around two o’clock and there would be a red carpet before the Parade as was the norm. _That_ made her stomach churn because she was still the only one at risk of being killed by a long range weapon and she wasn’t keen on taking an arrow in the heart for everyone to see.

The thought disturbed her and she rose from the table, intending to either go get ready for the ceremony or to check what sort of clothes Haymitch had at his disposal in the penthouse – the new wardrobe she had ordered had remained on the train and she would need to order another one now. There were so many things to do and so little time to do them…

That was why she liked her fixed schedules.

Now she was stressed out. 

“A word if you please.” Albert requested.

She wasn’t surprised and she sat back down, glancing at Haymitch who didn’t look up from his coffee. He had swallowed the sobering pills without complains or comments that morning and, as far as she knew, he hadn’t spiked his coffee yet – that was odd. She wondered if he meant what he had claimed the previous day : _you’ll be safer with me_. Was it possible that he cared after all? She wouldn’t have _dared_ say they were friends – because she was fairly sure he would have laughed at her for it – but they had been colleagues for a long time now and there was this _thing_ between them they were both happy to ignore… The tension, the innuendos, the banter…

“Naturally.” she granted.

“What happened yesterday _can’t_ happen again.” Albert declared straight out. “You can’t sneak out on me in a room full of people. You can’t…”

“She didn’t go _that _far.” Haymitch cut him off. “If you don’t notice when she switches rooms, how are you going to protect her exactly?”

“I’ve been protecting her for two months and she’s still alive.” the Peacekeeper snapped. “If you let me do my job, everything will be alright. _If_ you let me do my job.” Albert’s eyes darted from the escort to the mentor. “Now… I don’t know what sort of relationship you two have…” Effie opened her mouth in outrage but he lifted his hand to silence her. “… and _I don’t care_. Effie, you _know_ the rules. We’ve discussed them. You can’t be alone with anyone, you can’t leave my sight. It’s as simple as that.”

“Next you’re gonna put her in a pretty cage for her own protection.” Haymitch scoffed, somehow bitterly.

“Five escorts are dead. One of them died in this very building, another one died in a _District_. A place that, by all means, should have been _safer_ for her than the Capitol right now.” Albert scowled. “This isn’t a laughing matter, Abernathy, this is _serious_. The man is dangerous.” The Peacekeeper studied him for a second and then shrugged. “I understand the frustration, trust me. I also understand you don’t like me, I don’t like you either if that makes you feel any better, but the fact remains that my main purpose here is to make sure Miss Trinket stays safe. _I_ am in charge.”

Haymitch’s fingers clenched around the handle of his butter knife. “You’re not the boss of me.”

“Enough.” Effie cut in. “Enough, _please_…” She patted her blue wig out of sheer nerves. “Albert, I trust Haymitch. I am safe with him.”

“_I _cannot trust that, Effie.” the Peacekeeper objected. “You don’t go anywhere without me. That’s the rule. Disobey and I swear I will handcuff you to me.”

Haymitch bristled and the glare he tossed Albert was… _dangerous. _But Albert was joking. At least, she _hoped_ he was.

“Very well.” she surrendered.

The Peacekeeper nodded and Effie stood up, ready to go _do something_, _anything_ rather than keep talking about the danger she was in. She had been living with the dread and constant terror for two months now and it was two months too many.

She was ready to tear her hair off her scalp.

She had been trying to compose with the whole inconvenience and she hadn’t lied when she had told Haymitch it was either becoming Albert’s best friend or killing him, but being twenty-four hours a day with someone was too much, _entirely_ too much, and she was ready _to_ _scream_.

Even now, as she started walking toward the door, he adjusted his grip on his gun, clearly intending to follow her. She would have to keep smiling and looking composed, to keep being bubbly and a little dumb because that was what was expected of her and she was so _tired_ of that persona… She had been pulling it nonstop for two months. She just wanted a couple of hours of freedom, she wanted to drop the mask for a short while…

She wanted to lounge around in pajamas, without wig or make-up and not feel self-conscious about it. She wanted to eat lasagna straight from the take-out box on the couch while watching the most ridiculous program on TV. She wanted to be _alone_. 

Haymitch grabbed the hem of her skirt as she passed behind him. He quickly released it to wrap his fingers around her wrist instead, but she stopped all the same anyway.

Albert was looking at them with obvious annoyance. She chose to ignore it. 

_I’m sure he wouldn’t mind taking showers with you. You should see the way he looks at you_.

Haymitch was just trying to get under her skin like he always was. Albert had always been professional, a true gentleman really. He had never commented on her nightgowns or on the lack of wigs and make-up at night and if his eyes had strayed, she had never caught them.

And even if Albert _was_ attracted to her… What was it to Haymitch? The two men had been acting like archenemies ever since they had met and Effie was puzzled. It almost seemed as if Haymitch was _jealous_. He had denied it the day before but… _I could sneak in your shower and we both know you would let me_. She probably would, that was the worst thing.

She probably shouldn’t have felt as good about him being potentially jealous as she did either.

“You and I need to talk about the kids at some point. Figure out what we’re rolling with.” he told her – which was a first in the history of _ever_ because she was usually the one dragging him to a brainstorming session as to what to do with the children. “The girl’s smart, I think.”

“Do you think she could win?” Effie asked, her breath caught in her throat. _That_ would have been a first too. Haymitch was always adamant there was something called _victor material_ and that if they didn’t see it straight away in their tributes, then it would probably not happen.

“No.” Haymitch shook his head once, lightly squeezing her wrist. “No fighting skills. She doesn’t know how to hunt, she doesn’t know the first thing about surviving in the wild. The boy doesn’t either but I guess he has some brute strength, might keep him alive for a while if he makes it past the bloodbath.” He shrugged. “She’s got brains though. Maybe we can get a few sponsors out of that if you manage to doll her up a little. No silly Capitol fashion. Something real, tangible.” He squeezed her wrist again. “We’re not winning without a miracle though, sweetheart. Don’t go and get attached.” Albert didn’t say anything but he lifted his eyebrows and looked down with something akin to irritation. The movement caught Haymitch’s attention. “You’ve got something to say, you say it.”

Albert snorted. “I just think it’s funny how you expect me to trust you with Miss Trinket’s safety but you can’t be bothered to try and protect those kids.”

“You’re from Two, right?” he asked and at the Peacekeeper’s nod, Haymitch sneered. “Career District. You think the Games are fair, maybe?”

“Of course the Games are fair.” Effie cut in quickly, before letting out a soft fake laugh. “You _are_ talking nonsense, Haymitch.” It wasn’t enough to stop the two men from glaring at each other. “Was it all you needed?”

She tugged on her arm lightly but his grip tightened instead of slacking.

“No.” he said, never glancing away from the Peacekeeper. “How do we keep her safe during the red carpet? ‘Cause she will be as exposed as can be in the City Circle.”

Albert’s face grew serious. “I have a team in place on the nearby buildings and Peacekeepers will be controlling the whole block. I will be right next to her the whole time.”

“Won’t do her any good if there’s a skilled archer.” he countered.

“I’m ready to take an arrow for her if need be.” the Peacekeeper argued. “That’s _my_ job. But I’m confident it won’t come to that.” The man paused and granted with a small sneer. “If I die you can always get her inside. That’s convenient. You get to rescue the damsel once there’s no more danger.”

Haymitch studied the Peacekeeper for a few seconds and then stood up, very much in her space. He locked eyes with her, deliberately ignoring her bodyguard. “Once we’re on the carpet, you stick close to me. I don’t trust him.”

“Haymitch…” she tried to argue.

“No.” he cut her off, low enough that she fell silent. “I _don’t_ trust him to keep you safe and you were too hard to train, I don’t want a new escort.”

She snorted. “You did _not_ train me._ I _trained you.”

His grey eyes briefly twinkled with amusement but it faded into worry. “You stick close to me, sweetheart.”

She gave a shaky nod. He released her wrist but she didn’t notice at once, lost in the gaze they were exchanging. It took a few seconds and Albert clearing his throat for her to blink and mutter something about schedules and outfits.

She rushed to the safety of the corridor as fast as she could without giving the impression that she was running away. Albert, naturally remained close on her heels.

“I apologize for Haymitch’s behavior.” she said awkwardly after a moment. “It is nothing against you…”

“Oh, it’s very much against me.” the Peacekeeper chuckled. “I can’t really blame him though. If I had a woman as beautiful as you…”

Effie blushed but didn’t let that sink in. “No, no, no… You have the _wrong_ impression. We are absolutely _not_ involved in any way, shape or form. We are fighting more often than not as you will soon realize.”

“If you say so.” Albert replied, with a shrug that let her know he was humoring her.

“I am serious.” she insisted.

The Peacekeeper rolled his eyes. “Please, Effie. You should see the way he looks at you.”

She was annoyed and flustered all of a sudden.

“That is _quite_ funny.” she huffed. “He said the very same thing about you.”

Albert grew awfully quiet.

She would have preferred a hearty denial.

°O°O°O°

“So they’re killing escorts.” Johanna scoffed before taking a sip of champagne. “What do I care? Good riddance, I say. Won’t cry over mine that’s for sure.”

Haymitch took a sip of his own glass – the first he had all day and the last he would allow himself before he made sure Effie was back in the penthouse in one piece – preferring not to answer. The room they always crammed them in before the red carpet seemed smaller that year with the Peacekeepers shadowing not only escorts but Gamemakers.

Cowards, the bunch of them. Not one Gamemaker had been attacked so far.

“If only Viola could be next…” Chaff chortled in his whiskey.

“Stop it, it’s not _that_ funny.” Haymitch grumbled, tired of listening to his friends joking about the murders. It was all everyone was talking about everywhere, there was no escaping it for a second and he was really starting to lose his cool.

“Well, we don’t _all_ care for our escort.” Eleven’s mentor mocked. “Don’t worry, buddy, I’m sure her Peacekeeper will keep her in one piece. Besides, _everyone_ knows you’d kill anyone walking too close.” Chaff shot him a knowing smile. “Got your knife on you, don’t you?”

“I’ve always got my knife on me.” he snapped. “Doesn’t mean anything, does it?”

“What about the fact you’ve been watching her since you’ve got here?” Eleven’s victor countered. “What does _that_ mean?”

“It means I don’t like the guy they got her.” he growled.

His escort had been sucked into her gaggle of friends as soon as they had arrived and she had yet to come and fetch him. She was nodding at whatever Valeria, Two’s escort, was saying, a strained smile on her lips. Albert-the-Peacekeeper was _right_ behind her shoulder, the rest of his team standing further away. He was so close to her she could probably _feel_ his breath on her nape. At least Two’s escort’s bodyguard was at a _respectable_ distance and didn’t have _shifty_ eyes that kept darting to her as if trying to imagine her naked.

Although maybe Albert-the-Peacekeeper didn’t have to _imagine_. They had been living together for two months and he was sleeping in her bedroom after all. Accidents happened.

All this joking about showers the previous day had left him angry. He didn’t like the thought of that guy peeping at her in the bathroom. He didn’t like that Stanton had arrived before she could accept or decline his own stupid dare. If she _had_ dared him to find a way to join her under the shower… Would he have taken her up on it?

Eight years and he had never let himself slip with her, too aware of how dangerous it could potentially be. She was… Well, she irritated him most of the time and he loathed half the things that came out of her mouth but she was gorgeous and witty and she could get the last word with him. And she was warm and soft and…

“Someone’s a little jealous.” Chaff taunted, patting his shoulder.

“You disgust me.” Jo spat, rolling her eyes. “You’re all over that _bitch_ like she’s worth anything…”

“Finnick’s here.” Eleven’s victor said before Haymitch could snap back, waving his stump to catch Four’s victor’s attention.

He was trailed by a timid looking young woman with bright cotton-candy hair who looked completely out of place and unsure of what to do or say. Finnick waved back but nodded at the girl and rolled his eyes.

“This one’s a goner.” Johanna snickered. “If someone tries to kill her she’s probably gonna faint dead. Mine might try to run. What do you figure, Chaff? Yours would just take it?”

“She’d scream like a banshee.” Chaff snorted. “Might try to stab them with her stilettos though. She’s vicious that way.”

“No need to ask what Trinket would do.” Jo mocked. “She’s gonna shout for her knight with a shining bottle. Too bad you’re probably gonna be passed out drunk somewhere, Haymitch.”

“Can you just _shut up_ sometimes?” he snarled, storming away to where his escort was still chatting. He ignored Seven’s victor’s cackles and Chaff’s good-natured calls for him to come back. He was too sober, too annoyed, and too worried.

Truth was, he couldn’t imagine himself being followed around by someone like the girl sticking close to Finnick. He was too old and too bitter to bear the company of a young escort. He liked Effie. Effie was predictable, close enough to his age, _familiar_. Effie understood him.

He stopped next to her, making a point of standing even closer than Albert-the-Peacekeeper. She shot him a disapproving glance, clearly not oblivious to what he was doing, but didn’t comment. The two escorts’ conversation was boring but he stayed anyway, making his glass last until they were all called into order.

The red carpet was an unalterable routine. First the Gamemakers would walk out and then the mentors and escorts, team after team. They all more or less efficiently fell in line, ready to step out into the sun and shine – or try to at least. He and Effie were at the very end of the line. All the better, he thought, they would be closer to the doors which would come in handy if they needed to make a hasty retreat.

“Any reason you’re looking like a balloon?” he teased, tugging at one of the ribbons of her – _very _– puffy dress. She had worn ugly ridiculous stuff in the past but he had never known her to choose clothes that made her look like she had suddenly put on a ton of weight. He was too aware of just how close Albert-the-Peacekeeper was and he hated the fact that the man stood at his back, it made him want to reach for his knife.

“You will laugh at me.” she pouted.

Six’s team was called and the line moved closer to the door. She was nervous and trying hard to hide it. She looped her arm around his and held on for dear life.

“When don’t I?” he snorted, briefly covering her gloved hand with his. “You make it too easy.”

“I thought layers might make a difference.” she confessed, as Eight’s team walked out.

“Against an arrow?” he asked, keeping his tone casual. “Not a chance.” She shuddered and he shrugged. “Cheer up, sweetheart, we’ve got better than layers. We’ve got your bodyguard. So eager to die for you…”

“Maybe I will push _you_ in front of an arrow, Abernathy.” Albert-the-Peacekeeper grumbled, proving he had been listening to their every word.

“Please, would you two stop joking about this?” she begged. “There will _not_ be _any_ arrow. You _promised_, Albert.”

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. Just stay close to me.” Haymitch answered before the Peacekeeper could. “Say, where did they find Finnick’s new escort? Is she even of age?”

“Barely.” she declared, her lips pursed in disapproval. “And she hasn’t been trained or coached aside for the superficial interview with Seneca, from what I’ve been told. Finnick and Mags will have a field day this year.”

“Does she know about what’s going on?” He frowned just as Ten walked out. They were close to the doors now.

Effie licked her lips and glanced at him. “I do not think so but, then again, brand new escorts have not been targeted yet.”

“It doesn’t mean anything.” Albert-the-Peacekeeper butted in again. “I think he acts on opportunities. If he sees an opening, he will go for it, which is why I need you to follow my instructions to the letter.”

“You said he stages his victim’s death to match their last tribute’s.” Haymitch countered. “Doesn’t seem like an opportunist to me, seems like someone _who_ _plans_.”

“Please, let’s stop talking about this, I am nervous enough.” Effie gritted through her teeth.

“No reason. I will be right here, Effie, just behind you.” the Peacekeeper whispered.

She shot him a grateful glance over her shoulder. Before he could think twice about it, Haymitch tucked her hand under his elbow, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“I’m gonna keep you safe, Princess.” he vowed.

He was rewarded with a small smile and, as soon as she was distracted by Eleven’s team walking out, he tossed Albert-the-Peacekeeper a smug look. _He_ had gotten a smile.

_Twelve : 1, Two : 0_. 

Any amusement he had mustered disappeared when their District was called.

“Eyes bright, chin up, smile on.” she recited to herself like a mantra. “Eyes bright, chin up, smile on.”

“I’m right next to you, Effie.” he promised.

They stepped out and, for a while, he was blinded by the glaring sun, the spotlights and the flashes of cameras. He knew the act he had to play though so he gave lazy waves and winked at a few of the most hysterical women at the edge of the stage – even if most of them were screaming for Finnick and not _him_ – his charming smile was firmly stuck to his lips. Suddenly he wasn’t so unhappy about Albert discreetly standing in their shadow because his eyes were darting everywhere, looking for a potential threat, ready to push Effie aside if need be.

He had been expecting something to happen, he realized, and it felt anticlimactic when they were invited to step off the stage and to join their seats in the City Circle. Effie was her usual bubbly self, she answered a few questions with her usual wit, batted her eyelashes at some of the most influent sponsors, but she also kept a tight grip on his arm and he could see her upper lip twitching with the strain it took to keep smiling.

The parade felt endless, mostly because they were exposed. He spent more time studying their surroundings than watching the competition.

“_Oh_.” Effie huffed in annoyance when their tributes’ chariot rolled past. “Never mind _arrows_, I am going to _murder_ this stylist _with my bare hands_. I _specified_ I did _not_ want coal.”

Tanya and Rye were wearing miners outfits and their face and hands were covered with black powder. It was awful but they had had worse. He figured the stylists wouldn’t be invited to stay for dinner – not that their stylists _ever _stayed, Twelve wasn’t a fashionable District to be associated with.

“Let’s go get the kids.” he suggested as soon as Snow was done with his boring opening speech.

Effie didn’t breathe more easily in the Center’s courtyard. She put on a good show, smiling and showering the children with compliments, boosting their confidence up to the point they almost looked proud of themselves despite the fact they were both scrawny kids covered in coal dust. He remained silent but pursed his lips in annoyance.

He didn’t like lying to the tributes. He told it straight : they were going to die and they should accept it. Effie brought hope, she had a gift for that.

Every year they would argue over their approach and every year she would keep up the charade despite everything he had to say about it. He was of the opinion that false hope was worse than anything, she often hissed back that dying with a little hope in your heart wasn’t the _worst_ thing.

She only relaxed once they were all crammed in the elevator. It was a tight fit with the Peacekeepers and the tributes and Effie ended up pressed against his side. He didn’t mind so much.

“Go ahead, dears, go clean up. We will be in the living-room.” she told the children as soon as the elevator reached the penthouse, nudging them in the direction of the bedrooms.

A Peacekeeper saluted her bodyguard. “The floor’s clear, Officer Stanton.”

“Good to know.” Haymitch sneered, guiding Effie to the living-room with a hand at the small of her back.

_Of course_, Albert-the-Peacekeeper followed. Haymitch did his best to ignore him. He made a beeline for the liquor cart and poured himself a glass full to the brim. After a second of hesitation, he grabbed the pear liquor Effie liked and fixed her a glass too. She was sitting on the couch, massaging the tensed muscles in her neck and accepted the alcohol with a tired thank you. He flopped down next to her and took a sip of whiskey. The first drop of liquor was paradise and did wonder to his nerves.

Her blue eyes darted from him to Stanton who was standing against the wall, obviously trying – and failing – not to be too intrusive.

“Would you like something to drink, Albert?” she offered, shooting Haymitch a look that probably meant _manners_.

“I’m on duty, Miss Trinket.” the man declined.

Haymitch snorted but didn’t otherwise engage, tired of fighting with a guy who didn’t have enough brain to muster a good comeback.

“I think I can work with the girl.” Effie told him suddenly, switching topics. “You are right, she is smart. I would not say _witty_ but… Caesar can spin something with _smart_. The difficulty will be to not make her look arrogant. She is not _ugly_ either. If she is receptive, I could coach her a little perhaps, teach her how to look charming.”

“Good. That’s a plan.” Haymitch shrugged. “Tell them to go to survival stands at Training. They’ve got no hope of fighting the others off but maybe we can get them to survive long enough for something to take care of the competition. Luck strikes sometimes.”

She pursed her lips in annoyance at his casualness and he figured she was thinking he wasn’t doing enough again. Well, it was all he had to offer. Those kids were already dead and he wouldn’t get attached more than he had to. He would provide minimum help and advice to appease his guilty conscience if anything but, truly, it would have been better for them to die quickly and early. After the first day, it usually got ugly.

“What about Rye?” she asked. “What angle do you want to play?”

He twirled his whiskey in his glass, pondering the problem.

“Boy next door?” he suggested. The boy was nice from what he had seen so far and there wasn’t much more to say about it. He had been following Tanya’s lead all day long and he didn’t seem eager to start doing things for and by himself. That attitude would eventually get him killed.

“That’s what we went with last year.” she reminded him. “That’s what we go with _every_ year.”

“Okay, how else do you want to play it? Big softie who probably won’t lift a finger to defend himself?” He chuckled bitterly. “Way to paint a target on his back, sweetheart. Sure, let’s do that.”

“Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, you know.” she bristled.

“At least_ I _got wit.” he smirked. “Those wigs will swallow your tiny brain someday.”

“_Rude_.” she snapped. “So very _hopelessly_ rude.”

“That’s how you like it.” he challenged.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

They both pretended they didn’t hear Albert-the-Peacekeeper breathing out a long suffering sigh.

Chaff always said they were unbearable when they were in the same room.

Perhaps he had a point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know but I don't think Albert is fooled, you guys XD He's going to get blinded by the UST ^^ What did you think? Let me know your thoughts!


	4. Chapter 4

The sponsor she was attempting to charm into giving her his money didn’t wait long before making his escape, leaving Effie to sigh and toss a mild glare over her shoulder.

“Would you _mind_ staying back a little, Albert?” she complained. “We will _never_ get sponsors if you stand so close to me. You are scaring them away.”

That might have been a little unfair but Effie was reaching the very end of her tether. Sponsor-chasing with Peacekeepers in tow was worse than hopelessly courting sponsor after sponsor. Her only consolation was that she wasn’t the only one who was suffering from the heavily guarded presence.

The party, just like all the parties she had attended since the Opening Ceremony, had an odd vibe to it. Everywhere she looked, escorts were desperately trying to get sponsors’ attention, often having to rely on their victors to do the job for the very simple reason that the wealthy Capitols were spooked by the large numbers of Peacekeepers in the room. Half of them hadn’t bothered coming to the official Games party, the betting boards were historically low, rumors about missing escorts abounded, President Snow was unhappy and Seneca was sweating. 

Three days to the interviews and aside for One, Three and Four, she didn’t think any District had managed to secure sponsoring pledges. And, then again, if they had pledges at all, it was thanks to the victors’ work. Escorts were clearly being shunned by the Capitol elite.

Her eyes toured the room until she found what she was looking for. Haymitch was sitting in a corner with Chaff, Johanna and Finnick. Their eyes met and he lifted an inquisitive eyebrow. Mason was laughing, it wasn’t hard to guess about what.

Some victors were being protective of their escorts, some simply _weren’t_. Why, the things Chaff had said about Viola – to her face and behind her back… Effie had no love lost for Viola but she certainly didn’t wish her _dead_ and glimpsing tears of rage and terror in the woman’s eyes on that particular subject when Chaff became a little too vocal in his dislike brought her no pleasure. It was cruel and stupid and she had been forced to resist the urge to slap Eleven’s victor quite a few times over the last couple of days. 

She was _shocked_ every time Viola’s composure wavered, too used to the woman acting like a true harpy that nothing could touch – no insult, no threat and no scandal had ever made her so much as _twitch _before. And now…

Truth be told, all the original escorts were beginning to _crack_. The stress was getting to them, the stress and the constant supervision added to the yearly madness that were the Games… She felt ready to burst at the seams herself and her victor had actually been _supportive_. She couldn’t imagine how it must be like for those who had to endure the kind of taunts Mason and Chaff were so keen on imparting.

She turned her back on the victors and grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing tray.

“It’s your fourth.” Albert reminded her quietly, almost regretfully.

_Don’t get drunk_, that was one of the rules. _Don’t get drunk, don’t get high, no sleeping pills, nothing that can make you less than sharp_ – just in case.

She opened her mouth, ready to _snap_ because she was exhausted and tired of being directed like a puppet. She was not a child for people to dictate her behavior. And what point was there to being alive in the first place if she couldn’t _enjoy_ it a little?

She _wanted_ to _unwind. _She _needed _to unwind. She couldn’t drink. She couldn’t have sex. She couldn’t even enjoy a good night of sleep without nightmares. She was _barely _allowed to smoke because standing on a balcony was out of the question and there were smoke detectors almost _everywhere _in the building. She was growing _crazy _and..

She didn’t have time to start her rant – which was a shame because it would have been a _fabulous_ rant, she would have made a scene and _perhaps _then sponsors would have taken notice of her instead of acting like she wasn’t there at all. Officer Stanton’s face grew grimmer and, at the particular irritated tightness of his mouth, she guessed without a doubt who was standing behind her even before a hand touched her shoulder.

“Care for a dance?” Haymitch asked in a bored voice, as if he was doing her a _huge_ favor.

In a way he was and she thrust her flute of champagne in Albert’s hand without giving him the opportunity to object. “Please, _yes_.”

It had been _months_ since she had last been allowed on a dance floor. Her bodyguard was strict on what she could or could not do – and everything that involved him being more than two feet away from her, she _couldn’t_ do. Albert started protesting but Haymitch lifted his hand to stop the flow of recriminations.

“She’s about to have a breakdown.” he scoffed. “You’re blind or what? I’ll bring her back in one piece.”

The Peacekeeper’s eyes darted from him to her and studied her face a second longer than propriety would have deemed acceptable. In the end, he gave Haymitch a curt nod but she could tell he didn’t like it. “Stay where I can see you.”

“Yes, sir!” Haymitch mocked, giving him a salute.

Effie pursed her lips and whacked her victor’s arm. “Behave.”

A smirk appeared on his lips. “Make me.” he challenged.

She found herself smiling but grabbed the offered hand without shooting an answering gibe, too relieved at the short moment of freedom she was being granted. He led her away from her bodyguard but they remained close to the edge of the dance floor. She didn’t even mind. She placed one of her hands on his shoulder and let him wrap his arm around her waist far more tighter than was proper.

A couple of escorts threw her jealous glances. She wasn’t the only one with overprotective Peacekeepers and she wasn’t the only one who hadn’t been allowed something as innocently _fun _as a dance in months.

She wanted to thank him but knew it would only be swept aside with a grumbling assurance he wasn’t doing it for her.

“So, tell me… Who is betting on my getting killed next, Chaff or Johanna?” she asked.

She had meant it as a joke but his expression darkened, anger flashing in his eyes.

“Ignore them.” he spat. “I told you I won’t let anything happen to you.”

His hand clenched a little at her hip, creasing the blue fabric of her dress. She had given up on adding layers as protection. If she had to die, she had decided she would die _in style_ and, thus, she was clad in silk, in a declination of shades of blue that brought out her eyes. The fabric shimmered under the lights, making it look as if she was draped in streaming water. She had been waiting for an occasion to wear that dress for weeks.

She stared at him but he wouldn’t meet her eyes. He was looking straight ahead, over her shoulder, barely remembering to sway in time with the soft music.

“Thank you for staying sober.” she whispered at last, so low she thought it would be carried away by the background noises.

He caught it, of course. And he _did_ meet her eyes this time. She expected him to deny or to lie, to tell her it wasn’t at all about her and that she was too full of herself… And maybe she _was_ but the fact remained he had barely touched enough alcohol to prevent himself from going into withdrawals since they had arrived. And it was difficult not to draw a conclusion from cause to consequence because he was always _there _as soon as they were outside together, he kept her close to him or in his line of sight, he always paid sharp attention to their surroundings, and he might be complaining about her Peacekeepers escort but he also never hesitated to nudge her in their direction at the smallest sign of danger.

Not that there had been _any_ real sign of danger. It had been over a week since the last murder. They were all being overprotective. Security was tighter than ever.

“Need my wits about me if I’m going to figure out how to sneak into your shower.” he taunted eventually.

Grinning back was instinctive and she didn’t fight it.

“You have not made _any_ progress on that front.” she commented in a false saddened tone. “I am _almost_ disappointed.”

“Almost?” he snorted. “Maybe you should ask Albert-the-Peacekeeper to scrub your back. Bet he’ll come running like a good little puppy if you whistle. He’s _staring_ right now, you know.”

She tilted her head to the side with open disapproval. “He is watching me because it is his _duty_. Or have you forgotten about the small matter of a serial killer on the loose already?”

“He’s staring ‘cause he wants you.” he chuckled darkly. “You think he doesn’t get hard when you strut around him in a nightgown? Good thing those uniforms are thick.”

“Actually, he sleeps in pajamas.” she retorted, more annoyed than amused. “And I can _assure_ you I do not _strut_…”

“He wants you.” Haymitch cut her off, almost angrily. He tightened his hold on her waist, drawing her closer without really meaning to. “It’s all over his face. You’re good at reading people, how are you missing _that_, sweetheart?”

“You are behaving like a possessive caveman.” she chided him. “He is _my_ _bodyguard_. This is a professional relationship just like ours is and…”

He scoffed. “_Professional_, right. You talk about sharing a shower with him too?”

“That is different.” she argued.

“You just said it was the same.” he challenged.

“I _said_…” she retorted and then grew silent. She _had_ said it was the same. But she hadn’t meant it in that sense. She wasn’t really sure _how_ she had meant it. “It does not matter. I am _not_ attracted to him.” She frowned and glared at him. “Why am I _even_ justifying myself to you?”

“Cause you’re hoping one day I’m gonna sneak into your shower for real.” he stated, his voice rough and his grey eyes almost dark with intent. “You’re hoping I’m gonna touch you and make you scream until your mind pops. You’re hoping…”

“_Enough_.” she cut him off, a little faint. “This is _hardly_ proper.”

“_Hardly_’s a good word for what this is.” he chuckled.

She was blushing. She could _feel_ herself blushing, her cheeks were on fire and she hoped the make-up was enough to cover it.

“Crass.” she croaked, licking her lips.

“You’d like it, Princess.” he teased. And she had _no doubt_ she would. He leaned in to whisper in her ear and she had to close her eyes when she felt his breath on her skin. It had been far too long since a man had touched her. She _craved_ it. More than she craved alone time or being free to decide what she wanted to do with her day again, she craved a good night of sex. And Haymitch was torturing her without mercy for his own enjoyment. “Picture it. Against the wall of your shower, water trickling all over you, making _everything_ wet…”

“It sounds dangerous.” she remarked. “Aren’t you a bit too old for such a slippery endeavor?”

However she found she could picture it _just fine_. She could picture him entirely soaked. She could picture pushing him to his knees and tossing a leg over his shoulder. She could picture tangling her fingers in his hair and tugging his head _closer_…

“Oh, it’d be slippery alright…” he promised. His nose bumped against the shell of her ear. “The things I’d do to you, Trinket…”

She wanted to hear them.

She wanted to listen to everything he had imagined all those years and then she wanted him to do them to her. The cruder, the better.

Her own imagination was running _wild_. 

“Enough.” she requested again, almost begging this time.

She cleared her throat and forced herself to release the death grip she had on his shoulder. He didn’t seem to mind how hard her fingers were digging into his flesh though and that made her wonder if he liked it like that. _Rough_. She didn’t mind rough. She didn’t mind _anything_. But now she was desperate for a taste of it and she didn’t see it happening any time soon given the context so it was necessary to come back on a more familiar ground.

He smirked. “You’re sure? I was _just_ getting started…”

“Don’t you think it would be embarrassing if people realized you are now aroused?” she retorted.

They were pressed so close together there was no possibility for her to ignore it. And it wasn’t helping her think clearly.

“I don’t know, sweetheart…” he riposted, bringing his lips closer to her ear again. “How do you like the thought of everyone knowing I’ve got a boner because of you? ‘Cause I think I’m not the only one who’s turned on right now…”

“_Shocking_.” she managed to comment, faking a laugh. “Absolutely _utterly_ shocking. You are a scoundrel, Haymitch Abernathy.”

He shrugged. “And you’re a minx, so we make a fine pair.”

“I dispute this statement.” she declared. “I am _not_ a mix, as you say, I am a _lady_.”

“You only _play_ at being a lady.” he countered. “I bet you’re wild between the sheets.”

The song ended and another one began but they remained where they were, swaying slowly to the music. She could see Albert growing impatient but she ignored him, happy to pretend for a little while longer that it was a year like any other. She was safe with Haymitch anyway. He had promised her she would be.

Well… She was safe from murderers, not from sexual frustration.

She was about to address that improper comment about her preferences in the bedroom department when he suddenly tensed. She followed his gaze, turning her head in time to see Enobaria dash out of the room, followed by Seneca and his own impressive escort of Peacekeepers.

“What…” she started, only to be interrupted by Albert grabbing her arm and pulling her away.

There was a power struggle for a second because Haymitch’s instinctive reaction to her being grabbed was obviously to tug her closer to his chest but he surrendered in the end, faced with the Peacekeeper’s grim face and the tight hold the man had on his gun.

“What happened?” Haymitch asked.

“We need to get her out of here before they order us to keep escorts at the party.” Albert explained. “They won’t want to alarm sponsors._ I_ want to get her somewhere _safe_.” 

Instead of pressing for a more detailed explanation like she expected him to, Haymitch nodded once. And off they were. Enobaria and Seneca’s hasty exit hadn’t gone unnoticed and people were whispering. She wasn’t the only escort being ushered out of the room by Peacekeepers.

“It is Valeria, isn’t it?” she asked once they were in the hotel’s lobby, waiting for their car to pull up front. “Why did Enobaria have to go? Is she alright? Is she still…”

“Not now, Effie.” Albert snapped, his eyes darting everywhere. He signaled his men to keep close and they fell in the familiar formation, Albert at the front and the two others at the back. Haymitch grabbed her hand and she clung to it. “Okay, the car’s here.” the Peacekeeper said, bringing a hand to the earpiece he always carried everywhere. “They’re going to open the doors and we’re going to run. No stopping, no waving. You run _straight_ for the car.”

“We can’t.” Effie protested. “The fans…”

“Run _straight_ to the car.” Albert repeated harshly. “I _don’t_ want you exposed, understood?”

“We _can’t_ run.” she insisted. “It will look…”

“Trust me, there’s no hiding what happened tonight.” the Peacekeeper sneered. He looked at Haymitch with some mistrust mixed with reluctance. “Get her to the car.”

Again, Haymitch simply nodded.

Albert nodded back.

And then they were running.

Running in high heels wasn’t practical and she was so focused on _not_ falling, she barely registered the wind on her face or the shouts of the confused crowd. The dash to the car only lasted a few seconds but she counted every heartbeat, waiting for the pain that would surely go hand in hand with an arrow to the chest.

There was no pain though, only the warmer interior of the limo and the leather of the seats under her hands. She sat on one side, next to Haymitch, and Albert sat in front of them with one of his men, the third Peacekeeper took the seat next to the driver. The separation window remained open.

“What happened?” Haymitch asked in a commanding voice.

“What happened is that Two’s escort and Two’s mentor sneaked away from her security detail for a romantic getaway.” Albert spat. “Apparently she thought she would be _safer_ with _him_. They met at the park near the Center and now he’s at the Games clinic and she’s swinging on a tree with a noose around her neck from whatever booby trap she triggered.”

She gasped, covering her mouth with her hands. Valeria was one of the oldest escorts. She had started not long before Effie and they had always been on cordial terms. They had never been _close friends_ but… 

She blinked, trying to process the news. Her hands fell back on her lap, badly shaking. Haymitch covered them with his right one, glaring at the Peacekeeper.

“How’s Brutus?” he asked. “Taking _him_ out… Couldn’t be easy. You’re _sure_ that guy works alone?”

Albert was silent for a moment, clearly listening to whatever was being said in his earpiece.

“From what I’m hearing, Two’s victor was sedated.” Albert shrugged. “They found him with a syringe in his neck. Which means this was planned from start to finish and he _knew_ about their secret affair.”

“Inside intel.” Haymitch commented. “Either he has connections or he’s in the surveillance business…”

“There were rumors.” Effie countered flatly. There had _always_ been rumors about Valeria and Brutus but there were rumors about _everyone,_ really, and Effie hadn’t particularly believed them. Brutus was married after all and Valeria had never done anything that warranted her hoarding ammunitions against her so Effie had never investigated the matter further. “Caesar made a special piece about it two years ago, don’t you remember?”

“He makes pieces about _us_ every couple of years too, doesn’t make it true.” he scoffed. “If the guy planned sedatives, he knew _for sure_.”

“And it confirms only the escorts are at risk.” Albert added. “He clearly doesn’t want to go after victors or he would have made sure Brutus was dead.” The Peacekeeper shook his head. “They were found by a bunch of students. The news will be everywhere before the night is through. It’s over. They are going to have to admit the missing escorts are dead and they will have to tell the whole story. Maybe it will scare the guy off.”

“Or it will feed his ego.” Haymitch pointed out. “We don’t even know what he gets from murdering them… If he thinks he’s on a mission or something, he must be proud of his work. Having it all over the news… ”

“Can we stop talking about this?” she whispered, touching her face only to stop herself short at rubbing her eyes. “Valeria…”

“Your friend is dead because she was _stupid_.” Albert declared without a single ounce of tact. “She was warned against wandering off by herself and she did it anyway _because_ she thought that since her lover was a victor he could keep her safe. Anything sounds familiar here?”

She flinched.

And it seemed to infuriate Twelve’s victor but she couldn’t really tell who he was mad at.

“We _ain’t_ Two’s team.” Haymitch growled. “The situation…”

“Is different, _yeah_.” Officer Stanton cut him off. “Mainly because Brutus is younger, fitter and stronger than you. If _he_ was overpowered, who’s to say _you_ won’t be? You care about her? You keep your distance and you let me do my job.”

Haymitch didn’t like this, it was plain to see. The car slowed to a stop and they were ushered inside the Training Center, preventing him from having to answer.

From there it was a conundrum. The children were awake and in the living-room – which they ought _not_ to be because she had told them to go to bed hours earlier – having a party of their own with sweets, chocolate and crap TV. She didn’t mean to snap but her nerves were frayed and tributes shouldn’t be up in the middle of the night when they would need to demonstrate their talents for the Gamemakers the next day. She was in the middle of a rant about them not trying their best when Haymitch placed a hand on her shoulder, effectively cutting her off. She blinked back tears she hadn’t noticed were burning her eyes and she fled from the room, leaving him to deal with their tributes.

Albert naturally followed her but she didn’t say a word to him either, she stormed in the bathroom en-suited to her bedroom and slammed the door shut. She locked it before she thought better of it and unlocked it again. She sat on the floor with her back to the door and she let the sobs wreck her body.

After a few minutes, there was a careful knock on the door.

“I need a moment and I am perfectly safe, Albert.” she snapped. “I _hardly _doubt anyone could hide in here without me noticing.”

“It’s me.” Haymitch’s voice answered. “Well… It’s me _and_ your guard puppy but… It’s better than nothing right?” She remained silent and he waited a moment before sighing. “Come on, sweetheart, open the door I’ve got booze.”

“I am not allowed to get drunk.” she replied with a sniff.

“Good.” he snorted. “’Cause the booze’s for me, not for you. I’ve got tea for you. The strawberry one that reeks.”

Her favorite flavor in short. She was oddly touched by that and crawled away from the door before turning the handle. He handed her the steaming mug with a smirk that was mostly forced.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes… Your war paint melted, Princess.” he mocked, taking a seat next to her on the floor. Albert remained standing next to the door, impossible to ignore although Haymitch certainly did his best.

“I need a cigarette.” she sighed. She wouldn’t be allowed on the roof and if she smoked inside it might trigger the smoke detectors, particularly in the bedroom.

“You quitted.” Haymitch reminded her, tilting his bottle of whiskey over her mug so a generous amount spilled in it. Albert shuffled on his feet, clearly dying to remind her _again _that she had drunk enough, but Haymitch toasted him, almost taunting.

“I still want one.” she retorted, bringing the mug to her lips. The taste coupled with the whiskey was horrible but she drank it nonetheless, if only because the liquor slowly relaxed her. They drank in silence until her tea was gone and half his bottle was empty.

“Better?” he asked.

“No.” she answered truthfully. “But I can pretend now.”

“Good.” he replied. “Don’t take it out on the kids again. They’re gonna be dead in a few days, they deserve some respect.”

“I might be dead too.” she pointed out, rather childishly. She _would _apologize to the children in the morning.

“They’re dead men walking ‘cause I can’t do much more for them.” he growled. “_You_’re not. I told you I won’t let _that_ happen. Quit acting like this. Ain’t you, sweetheart.”

“What if you can’t stop it?” she whispered. “_Brutus_ couldn’t.”

“Brutus is younger and fitter and stronger…” Haymitch scowled, tossing a dark look at the Peacekeeper still standing at the door. “But he’s also a lot more _stupid_.”

“You are arrogant.” she commented.

“Confident.” he corrected.

“_Arrogant_.” she insisted. She flashed him a small smile and leaned her whole weight against his side, resting her head on his shoulder. “But I trust you.”

“As you should, Princess.” He winked, leaning closer to whisper in her ear so Albert wouldn’t hear. “Look, I’ve found a way to sneak into your bathroom already. Next step is the shower.”

She giggled despite her best intentions and blamed it on the liquor. He hauled himself to his feet and helped her to hers, he squeezed her hand when he told her goodnight and glared at Albert before leaving the room. Effie went on with her usual nightly ritual, taking some comfort in the routine of it.

It wasn’t until she was in her bed, safe under her blankets, the lights off and listening to the now familiar breathing of the man lying on a cot at the foot of her bed, that she licked her lips and faced the elephant in the room.

“He is not my lover.” she stated calmly.

Not that she had to justify herself and certainly _not_ to a Peacekeeper but…

“Does it matter?” Albert snorted and there was some bitterness in there.

She didn’t answer the question.

She wasn’t sure what the right answer was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one bites the dust! Haymitch made progresses toward the shower but we're not there yet. Albert probably has a stress induce headache XD What did you think of this chapter? Let me know your thoughts!


	5. Chapter 5

“Can’t you wait until we’re back at the penthouse?” Albert grumbled for the tenth time, keeping a strong grip on her arm as they maneuvered around sponsors, camera crews and victors in the main hall.

“No, I can’t.” she hissed back, leading him to the _ladies_ tucked out of sight in a little corridor next to the lobby. She was annoyed and had no patience for him and his treating her like a child tonight. The interviews had been a _complete_ disaster and not only because she had spent the second half of them fidgeting on her seat to the point Haymitch had joked about offering her his flask so she could relieve herself. She had tasked him with getting the children back to the penthouse as a punishment. That would serve him right.

She ignored the pointed fingers and the sponsors’ loud exclamations, she kept her head high, focused on her objective.

The news that escorts were being murdered one after the other was now public – there was no going around it with Valeria’s corpse swinging from a branch in the park – and in true Capitol fashion, unofficial betting boards were being held. The Games, that year, weren’t taking place in the arena but outside of it – the interest in the tributes was minimal at best. Once reassured that _only_ escorts were being targeted, sponsors’ attendance had increased back to its normal level. No one wanted to miss the next murder.

And it _infuriated_ her.

There was already a group of Peacekeepers standing in front of the restroom and their leader nodded at Albert and the rest of his men. She thought it was Eleven’s protection team but she wasn’t certain – there were too many men and women in white uniforms constantly swarming around them for her to keep track.

“I already checked inside.” the other man told Albert. “It’s clear.”

Her bodyguard pursed his lips, clearly not happy about this. “Be quick.”

She stepped inside without further ado, having next to no intention to be quick about it. Time alone was so few and far in between now that she was greedy about the few minutes granted to her to use the bathroom. She felt an incomparable freedom when the door swung shut behind her.

Viola was standing in front of the large mirror, applying more white silver powder to her cheeks. Dark eyes followed her as she hurried to the closest stall. It was only when she stepped out and washed her hands that Effie acknowledged her though.

“Blond is _not_ your color.” she declared, nodding at the wig on top of Eleven’s escort’s head. It was bleach blond with pink strands, tucked high on her skull in a towering huge bun with matching feathers tucked in it and Effie absolutely hated everything about it.

“You look fat in this dress.” Viola retorted. Effie smoothed her white puffy dress with a huff but the other escort wasn’t done. “And your tributes were terrible.”

“So were yours.” she pointed out.

Viola granted her the point with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Lend me your hairspray, will you?”

She pursed her lips, having half a mind to refuse, but, in the end, she fished the small can of hairspray from her purse and handed it over, perching herself on the counter despite the fact that it was neither ladylike nor clever. She should have hurried out and let Albert escort her back to the penthouse where she would be safe from serial killers.

The content of Viola’s purse was laid out next to the sink and Effie pointed out at a square silver case. “_Please_, tell me there are cigarettes in there.”

Viola wordlessly slid the case closer to her, giving her tacit permission for her to help herself. She was obviously too focused on fixing her wig to care. Effie almost whined in pleasure when she wedged the cigarette between her lips, glancing at the ventilation block in the corner to make sure it was working – this was the only restroom in all the building where you could smoke without risking to trigger smoke detectors, which was why it was all escorts’ favorite.

“Do you want me to leave you alone with that cigarette?” Viola taunted with obvious loathing. “How long has it been since you had something _fun _in your mouth that you moan like _that _for a smoke?”

Effie made a face at her – Viola _always_ brought back a childish urge to stick her tongue out – and grabbed the lighter. She breathed in that first drag with something akin to utter relief.

“Menthols.” she lamented after blowing out smoke. “I should have known your taste in cigarettes would be just as appealing as your taste in fashion.”

There was a pointed knock on the door. “Miss Trinket.”

“I am perfectly _fine_, Albert.” she snapped with open irritation.

“Miss Summercket?” another voice insisted.

“I _will_ gut you if you do _not_ leave me alone for five minutes, Grady.” Viola snarled back.

Their gazes met and they both rolled their eyes at the same moment.

“This is _unbearable_, is it not?” Effie sighed.

“Being hunted down like cattle or having to live like a criminal under _constant_ supervision?” Eleven’s escort snorted, placing the hairspray next to Effie’s purse and moving on to applying more lipstick. She didn’t truly need the make-up adjustments but Effie figured she was fishing for excuses to get rid of her bodyguards for a few more minutes. She could certainly understand _that_.

“Both.” she answered, throwing her head back and blowing smoke toward the ceiling.

It wasn’t a behavior she would have allowed herself with _just_ anyone but Viola didn’t count – for numerous reasons.

“I wish that psycho would hurry and attack me.” Viola challenged, jutting her chin in the air with open defiance. “I am _dying_ to stick my stilettos in some painful places.”

She couldn’t help but grin at the image. “You are vulgar.”

“You are just as vulgar as I am, you just hide it better.” Eleven’s escort pointed out.

“I dispute that statement.” she countered.

“Effie Trinket, perfect angel.” Viola spat with some venom. “Innocent and sweet, the right side of sexy. The perfect lady, the ideal wife to be.”

“Viola Summercket, perfect demon.” Effie exposed on the same tone. “Provocative and seductive… Ambitious to the point of nastiness. The perfect mistress. What was it they called you back in the day? _Sex on legs_?”

“I hated that nickname.” Eleven’s escort cringed. “It only came up because you were playing the innocent virgin.”

People had loved to pitch them against each other during their modeling career. They were so completely different in style but so close in age that people were fascinated by what they perceived to be a rivalry to defy any other in the city. And, _of course_, it had grown out of hands over the years. They had been teenagers when it had started and they were both still hunting on the same turf, it was enough for them to hate each other’s guts. 

“Tacky.” she agreed. She finished the cigarette, hopped off the counter and washed the bud down the drain. No evidence, no crime. “Try not to get killed, please.”

Viola lifted a perfectly shaped eyebrow, a mocking smile on her lips. “Why? Would you miss me?”

With so many other escorts gone, Viola was the one she knew the best. They had known each other ever since they were seventeen, almost half her life, and as much as she hated her she couldn’t quite imagine a world where Viola wouldn’t be there to harass her, insult her and generally make her life a living hell. In the same way, who would she bitch to her friends about? Who would she disparage every time she felt low?

“Finding a new archenemy would be a lot of work.” she declared, pocketing her hairspray.

“Do not worry, Euphemia.” Viola laughed. Her laugh was low and rough and it had made more than one men in the Capitol fall to their knees. “I intend to survive to attend your funerals if only to spite you.”

“I expect your eulogy to be very hypocritical and to draw tears.” she deadpanned.

“Naturally.” Viola nodded. “You would do the same for me.”

“Naturally.” Effie echoed, before leaving the room.

It was odd, she mused, as she made her way back to the penthouse, trying to ignore the Peacekeepers shadowing her, how closer you could be from an everlasting rival than to some of your very best friends.

°O°O°O°

Twelve lasted twenty minutes. Altogether not such a bad run for them, Haymitch mused bitterly as he took a sip of his whiskey. The ice had melted and the alcohol was now watered down but he didn’t complained about it – not when a fifteen year-old boy had been stabbed twenty minutes ago and a fourteen year-old girl had just stupidly gotten herself attacked from behind and strangled with a shoelace because she had thought she was in the clear since she had managed to escape the bloodbath at the Cornucopia.

“I suppose I do not have to worry about arrows anymore.” Effie whispered, rubbing her own throat.

Haymitch almost snapped at her but he swallowed the harsh words with another mouthful of disgusting watered down whiskey. It wasn’t her fault and she had a point. Now they would have to worry about shoelaces instead of wayward arrows. It meant she would be safer in open spaces but it also meant it would be easier for the killer to get rid of her.

He slouched on the penthouse’s couch, glaring at the screen where more kids were getting slaughtered. It had been his idea to stay in to watch the launch instead of going to the Games Headquarters. Safer for her. Now he regretted it because there was no escaping the familiar tension in the room.

They usually fought after they lost their tributes. They fought hard and long until one of them stormed out to slam a door.

This year though…

He was too acutely aware of the Peacekeepers patrolling the floor, of Albert’s contempt. The man had been leaning against the wall since the Games had started and he had been making a face ever since Rye had gotten himself killed. Haymitch was starting to fear old sayings were true and his face _would _stick that way.

“Next year, Haymitch.” Effie offered cheerfully, leaning in to pat his free hand. “We will win next year.”

It wasn’t about winning, it was about saving at least _one_ kid.

And her cheerfulness, he really couldn’t bear right now, even if he thought it to be mostly an act.

“Sure.” he grumbled.

The Peacekeeper _snorted_ _._

Haymitch’s grey eyes snapped up at Stanton.

“You’ve got something to say?” he challenged.

Albert-the-Peacekeeper clearly hesitated for a moment, his gaze falling on Effie before going back to him. “Given how you coach them, I don’t see any of your tributes winning anytime soon, that’s all. You act all sad but you didn’t bother training them at all, I just find it a bit hypocritical.”

Haymitch was on his feet in seconds, hands balled in fists and eager for a fight, but Effie was quicker. She was standing too suddenly, very much in his space, both hands on his chest…

“Haymitch, please.” she requested before tossing a glare at Albert over her shoulder. “Don’t _you _dare judge us. We have done the best we could. We _always_ do.”

“I don’t judge _you_, Effie.” Stanton denied, shaking his head. “I’ve seen you work… You’ve done everything you could.”

“So did Haymitch.” she hissed, turning to face the Peacekeeper but staying right where she was, blocking Haymitch’s path. “Twelve is _not_ Two, Albert. Our tributes are _not_ Careers. They are _not_ volunteers. They are _not_ fighters. They are only scared children who know what their odds are.”

It was the most sensible speech he had ever heard her make and for someone who kept insisting that odds were always fair, it showed an understanding of the system Haymitch wasn’t always granting her. _Damn_ her but she was good at playing the game, he sometimes didn’t know who she truly was.

He placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed – because as much as he liked the fact she wasn’t as blind or dumb as she often pretended to be, it was still a dangerous statement to make out loud where bugs could pick it up.

She blinked and glanced back at him but before he could warn her to get back on the brainwashed track, the phone started ringing. With a sigh, she escaped his hand and headed straight for it.

“Twelve’s floor, Effie Trinket speaking.” she answered with enough cheer that nobody would have suspected the rant she had just made. “Oh, hello, Seneca.” There was a long moment of silence and then she bit down on her bottom lip. “_Must_ I? I… Yes. Yes, I quite understand. I will be right there.” She hung up and turned back to them, her features schooled into detachment. “It seems I must go down to the Headquarters, Finnick _especially _requested my help. His new escort is apparently not up to par.”

Haymitch pursed his lips, not happy to hear that. He would have liked it better if she had stayed in the penthouse.

“I’m going down with you.” he mumbled, intending to get a word with Finnick about this.

The elevator ride was silent and awkward, mostly because of Albert’s massive presence at their back. It was crowded with the three Peacekeepers and everyone winced when the elevator stopped at Ten’s floor. Sofia, Ten’s escort, made a beeline for Effie regardless, leaving her own protection team to cram themselves in the tight space left.

“You too?” the woman asked with something akin to relief. “I am supposed to go help Two, it seems the girl they hired to replace Valeria disappeared.”

“New victim?” Haymitch frowned, breaking his own rule to never willingly get involved in a discussion between escorts – they were silly and stupid and usually left him with a headache.

Sofia shook her head, her purple eyes – either contacts or some crazy plastic surgery – twinkling with mirth. That woman did love her gossip. “I briefly talked to Enobaria on the phone and she seems to think the girl grew scared and made a run for it.”

“It is understandable.” Effie sighed. “Those girls are _barely_ older than the tributes… And it is a difficult enough job in normal circumstances.”

“_That_ and word on the street is that Brutus has been… _difficult_ since… Well.” Ten escort’s pursed her lips, her happiness visibly deeming. It was fleeting though. Soon she was back to smiling and acting just as animated as Effie always did. “He can be scary when he is angry, I suppose. Enobaria sounded tired, it is _not_ like her. She is usually a rock.”

“Valeria was with them a long time.” Effie answered, a touch somber.

Valeria had already been on the team when Enobaria had won if Haymitch wasn’t mistaken. He didn’t think Two’s younger mentor ever had to deal with another escort. You got attached to people. Even annoying ones. And, then again, Valeria hadn’t been a nasty person either. She had probably been just as irreplaceable to Two’s team as Effie was to Twelve. And that was without mentioning Brutus’ personal connection to her…

“Seneca said Enobaria asked for me specifically.” Sofia grinned. “Perhaps she will decide to keep me on after this season. Can you imagine if I was promoted? From Ten to Two? It is almost unheard of. Who are you with now?”

“With me.” Haymitch grumbled, tossing the annoying woman a brief glare. “I’m just _lending_ her out. No getting promoted on my watch.”

“Manners.” Effie muttered, whacking him in the chest. “I am with Four.”

Sofia nodded. “Oh, it makes sense. Finnick _always_ liked you.”

“A little too much.” he mumbled under his breath, low enough that only Effie and Albert heard. It warranted him a discreet nudge of a pointy elbow in the stomach. Better than another whack, at least.

He was happy to finally get out of the elevator. He didn’t like being trapped with so many people in such a tiny space, never mind when six of them were armed to the teeth.

“Effie, remember…” Stanton started once Ten’s escort had strutted away.

“I _know_.” she snapped coldly.

Clearly, the Peacekeeper wasn’t forgiven for his earlier comments and Haymitch couldn’t help but smirk at his obvious demise. Effie had a lot of flaws but she was _loyal to a fault _and she didn’t tolerate anyone badmouthing Twelve – or _him_. It was a thing. They talked _shit_ about each other but when it came down to it, they didn’t like other people doing the same.

Finnick wasn’t difficult to find, he was running around and trying not to look like it. He breathed out in relief when he saw them. “_Finally_!”

“I came as soon as Seneca called me.” Effie countered defensively, with an annoyed twitch of her eyebrows.

“Yeah, no, sorry…” The boy winced, it soon turned into a grin and he briefly hugged her tight. “Thank you for coming, really… Alyssa’s _useless_. I left her with Mags to watch the monitors. I really need you to help me get some money. Be my wing man. Wing woman. Whatever.”

“Of course. I am happy to help.” Effie promised, turning her attention to the groups of sponsors around the room.

“Boy, a word?” Haymitch requested, grabbing Finnick’s arm before he could accept or decline. His escort was already charging into the fray, followed by her Peacekeepers.

“I’m just borrowing her for a couple of days.” Four’s victor declared before he could say anything. “Crane already warned me it was temporary. You’re too difficult with escorts, apparently. They don’t want to bother finding another one you won’t be able to scare away.”

Haymitch waved that joke away. He had biggest fish to fry. “You stay with her _all the time_. You don’t let her out of your sight.” _He_ couldn’t shadow her all day, not if she was working for Four. “I swear if _anything_ happens to her…”

“I’ll keep her safe.” Finnick promised, suddenly serious. “You have my word.”

He nodded once, shot a last glance in Effie’s direction and headed toward the mentor’s lounge. It was almost empty save for Eight’s and Five’s victors who were sitting at a table, obviously drawing an alliance agreement. Brutus was sitting alone at the bar, steadily downing shot after shot of what Haymitch suspected to be vodka.

He eased himself on the stool next to him.

“Don’t wanna talk.” Brutus slurred, a threat in his voice.

“Fair enough.” Haymitch shrugged, signaling the bartender he wanted a glass. “Wanna drink?”

He wasn’t exactly _friends _with the Careers, they never purposefully made arrangements to get a drink or catch up… But they weren’t enemies either outside of when the Games demanded it. Besides, while some were arrogant and sneered down at him for being from Twelve, Brutus had always been decent. The man had won two years after him and had never hidden his admiration for _the Quell’s victor_ who had won against the double of Careers. It had been ten years now and they had always remained on cordial enough terms.

“Yeah…” Brutus said slowly, looking at him with gratefulness. _“Yeah_.”

Haymitch paced himself, mindful of how much Two’s victor was gulping down and wondering how much more his body could take before he drank himself into a stupor. He was hoping _not_ to have to deal with Enobaria, he didn’t get on at all with her. She was Brutus’ prodigy protégée but she was also everything he hated in a Career victor: arrogant, proud of her status and thirsty for blood.

There were a lot more mentors in the lounge and Two’s victor was dangerously swaying on his stool when he first started hearing the urgent whispers.

_Another attack_.

_A double one. _

He heard names being tossed around but it wasn’t until he heard _Trinket_ at least four times that his stomach started churning with dread. He was out of the room before he could stop to think that the smart thing to do would have been to _ask _one of the other mentors for information. 

The Headquarters were swarming with Peacekeepers but he found Finnick in the main room. The boy winced as soon as he spotted him and lifted both hands in a peace gesture. “Look, I’m _sorry_. She was _just _going to the Gamemakers office. She had her security detail with her. I thought it was safe…”

Haymitch’s jaw clenched.

If she had gotten herself killed, _he_ would murder Finnick and her entire protection squad.

If she had gotten herself killed, he would find the man responsible and he would introduce him to the blade of his knife.

If she had gotten herself killed, he would _never_ forgive her…

If she had gotten herself killed, he would…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dum Dum Duuuuum... That's what we call a cliffhanger, ladies and gentlemen....  
What did you think? How subtle were they in that elevator? XD Did Albert fail in his duty because of that fight? Is Effie dead? Is Haymitch ever going to finish that last thought? Will that serial killer live if Effie is dead and Haymitch gets his hands on him?  
Let me know your thoughts!


	6. Chapter 6

Effie and Finnick made a very good team. They worked well together, as the boy pointed out five times with a grin, and before an hour had passed she had three sponsoring pledges for him to sign.

“I will drop them off at the Gamemakers’ office.” she offered. She hardly ever had to make sure the team’s account was credited in Twelve but the sums for Four were important and she didn’t want to risk sponsors retracting – that probably didn’t happen with Four but it happened all the time with Twelve.

“Alright.” Finnick nodded. “I will check with Mags to see what she thinks and then maybe we can take a lunch break. My treat.”

She wouldn’t have minded a nice restaurant, even if the meal would have to be short so they could get back to working the crowd, so she gratefully accepted the invitation and hurried out of the room, resolutely ignoring Viola’s taunts about her jumping teams on her way.

The Gamemakers’ office was on a restricted floor and it was good to get away from the madness that were the Headquarters for a while. The silence was almost weird after so long spent in the buzzing of hundreds of conversations in a closed space.

She glanced at Albert in the elevator but the man was looking straight ahead, resolutely not paying her attention. She didn’t even bother glancing at the other Peacekeepers because those officers kept changing and she wouldn’t have known one from the other. The tension didn’t settle right with her but her irritation was too real and too justified for her to be the bigger person and make a peace offering.

He should never have made the kind of comments he had. Perhaps he didn’t like Haymitch and perhaps he had his reasons for that but it didn’t excuse the man’s behavior. At the end of the day, Albert was a Peacekeeper and while she had been happy to treat him amiably, a Peacekeeper ranked well below a victor and miles below a Capitol citizen. She wouldn’t tolerate that kind of judgmental attitude.

_What did he even know about the Games?_ she mused as they all stepped out of the elevator and into the deserted corridors of the Gamemakers’ floor. Two had _academies_ that trained tributes. Reapings were always a complicated two days long affairs because there were so many volunteers. The Games were a _business_ to them, they weren’t called _Careers _for nothing.

For people from Twelve…

For people from Twelve, the Games were their worst fear.

The clicking of her heels echoed down the corridors, making the back of her nape prickle with the knowledge the floor was mostly empty. There should have been a couple of Gamemakers assistants around somewhere to register sponsoring pledges and update the Gamemakers in the Arena Room…

Albert was walking in front of her, as usual, and she was trying not to too obviously glare at his back when he abruptly stopped. She collide straight into him, tried to step back, slipped on a puddle of water that seemed to have come from nowhere and ended up falling down on her ass like an idiot.

Oh, this time, he was _really _going to get it, she vowed…

At least until she realized that what she had slipped on wasn’t water. She watched the red sticky liquid on her hand, refusing to understand what it was, and then she looked up.

And she _screamed_.

Someone pulled her up. Grabbed her around the waist when her legs wouldn’t hold, dragged her away by force…

She didn’t stop screaming.

She didn’t stop screaming and even when she was back in the elevator once more she couldn’t stop _seeing _them. Sofia’s slit throat and her blood still trickling on the floor… And the girl… She didn’t even know her name. Valeria’s replacement… A knife wedged deep in her eye.

She didn’t stop screaming.

She didn’t stop screaming even when someone grabbed her shoulders and gave her a rough shake. She couldn’t stop seeing it. She couldn’t erase the images from her mind, it was branded on her retina. And her hands were full of the blood she had fallen in, her dress, her legs… She couldn’t _stop_…

She was dragged again. Out of the elevator. Into a familiar living-room…

She barely realized she was in the penthouse.

She was still screaming.

The slap took her by surprise. It wasn’t a nice slap. It was a hard one and it would leave a bruise but the violence shocked her enough that she fell silent.

“I’m sorry.” Albert said quickly, immediately cupping her cheek and rubbing his thumb against her smarting cheekbone. “I’m sorry but you were hysterical. You’re safe, Effie. The penthouse is secure. Everything’s fine.”

Everything _wasn’t _fine.

She was covered in blood.

And Sofia’s throat… It had been _gaping _open.

And that poor girl…

Her ears were ringing and she felt light-headed. She barely had time to step away from the Peacekeeper before she was bending in two and emptying her stomach on the brand new carpet she had fought to have replaced two years earlier because of Haymitch’s regular puking on it. She had warned him she would have all the alcohol in the penthouse removed if he was sick on that beautiful carpet again. She had…

“Effie…” Albert winced, placing a hesitant hand on her back.

She was sick again and her legs were shaking hard. She grabbed him because he was the closest steady thing. She hadn’t meant for it to become a hug but once his arms wrapped around her, she leaned against him and closed her eyes…

And she started crying.

And no amount of panicked promises she was safe was enough to stop _that_.

°O°O°O°

Haymitch impatiently drummed his fingers against his thigh during the whole elevator ride, his eyes riveted to the numbers that were flashing by too slowly.

He was still processing what had just happened. Effie was safe, though. That was the main thing, he figured. Sure, he had been scared to death and he was still shaking a little from having thought she had been _murdered _but she was safe, alive and well.

Sofia though… They had _just _been talking with Ten’s escort.

_It could have been Effie_.

It _really_ could have been.

The elevator’s doors finally opened on the penthouse and he automatically stepped forward only to freeze when he found himself faced with two gorillas dressed as Peacekeepers. They stepped aside without a word when they recognized him though. Not that he would have let them stop him. Not when he could hear Effie’s desperate weeping from where he stood.

He hurried into the living-room and took it all in stride. There was blood all over the back of her dress, her legs and her hands. She had been sick, on the floor and on herself. And, of course, she was trapped in Albert-the-Peacekeeper’s greedy embrace – well, to be fair, it wasn’t _that_ greedy, the guy was clearly struggling to hold her up because she was a sobbing wreck but _still_.

“Effie.” he called, more sternly that he meant to.

She had _fucking _scared him and now he was angry. Maybe he wasn’t her fault but…

She took her face away from the Peacekeeper’s shoulder to look at him and _fuck _was she a mess… Her make-up was smudged all over, her gaze was dazed, she was shaking…

“She’s in shock.” he spat, striding across the short distance, shedding off his jacket. “They don’t teach you first aid in your _fucking_ Peacekeeper school?”

He wrapped the jacket around her shaking frame and pulled her away from the guy while he was at it. The Peacekeeper resisted for a second but Effie took the decision when she reached for Haymitch and bundled his shirt between her bloodied fingers. Soon, it was against _his _shoulder that her face was pressed and she was clinging to him with an abandon she hadn’t shown with Stanton. Small victory. 

“Haymitch…” she gasped. “Haymitch, they…”

“I know. Finnick told me.” he mumbled against her blue wig, rubbing her back hard to warm her up. His gaze met Albert-the-Peacekeeper’s over her shoulder. The man seemed at a loss. “Pour her a drink. Tequila.”

Something _strong_… That would do the trick.

“No…” Effie protested. “I will be sick again… I… Haymitch, they were…”

It had been ugly. He didn’t need to be told. The blood on her clothes was enough of a clue.

Two’s female tribute had died from a stab wound in the eye that morning at the Cornucopia and Ten… He didn’t remember about Ten but both tributes had been out almost as soon as _Twelve _had.

“I know.” he said, grabbing the glass Stanton handed him and forcing it close to her lips. She turned her head away but he insisted. “Come on, sweetheart. It’s gonna help clear your head. Promise.”

She took one sip, coughed and pressed her face against his chest, sobbing so hard he was afraid she would choke. He thrust the glass back into Albert’s hand and picked her up without further ado. She adjusted automatically, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“I’m… I’m disgusting…” she stuttered. “You shouldn’t…”

“It’s fine.” he muttered. “We’re gonna clean you up and then you can get some rest, yeah?” He was aware Albert followed them all the way to her bedroom but he drew the line at the bathroom door. “I’ve got her. Get lost.”

“I’m not leaving her alone.” the Peacekeeper argued.

“She’s not alone, she’s with _me_.” he snarled.

“Abernathy…” Stanton started.

“Look, she needs a shower.” he cut him off. “And she ain’t getting one with you watching so get _fucking _lost and try to find out what happened down there. ‘Cause, the way _I_ see it, this protection thing? _Ain’t_ _working_. Escorts are dropping like flies. What happened to _their _Peacekeepers?”

“I don’t know.” Albert admitted.

“Find out.” he snapped. “And leave us alone. You’re upsetting her.”

That might have been wishful thinking on his part because she looked upset enough as it was and not because of the man.

Stanton hesitated and then finally pulled his handgun out and placed it on the edge of the sink. “You see _anything _suspicious, you shout. We still don’t know how he got in and out of Prudence Aldercott’s bedroom. I’ll leave a team in front of the door.”

Haymitch nodded at him and then turned his whole attention on Effie because she had grown very quiet. Her sobs were little less than hiccups now and he carefully placed her down on her own feet as soon as he heard the bedroom’s door clicking shut.

“Alright, sweetheart. Let’s clean you up…” he murmured.

His fingers were hesitant at first when he reached for the dress’ zipper but she let him undress her like a doll. He didn’t go further than the dress and the shoes. The sight of her lilac underwear – lacy and a little see-through – was already unnerving and he tried not to _stare _because that would have been a real asshole move. She was vulnerable and he didn’t want to take advantage.

He got rid of his shoes, his shirt and his pants before steering her in the shower stall and turning the water on. He stepped inside with her because it was the easier way to work on getting the blood out. He rubbed shower gel on her with a soft cloth, _again _trying not to pay too much attention to what he was doing because… Well, she was a beautiful woman and he was just a man.

“There.” he declared after a few minutes. “Blood free.”

“Thank you.” she whispered. She looked a little better. Less pale. The shaking had stopped too. But her eyes were still haunted. “Sofia… She was… There was so much blood…”

“Yeah.” he said quietly.

“I do not want to die.” she begged, reaching for him. “I do not want to die…”

He hugged her tight, coiling a hand at the back of her nape. “You’re _not_ gonna die. Told you. I won’t let him hurt you.”

She clung to his shoulders, her face against his neck, and he closed his eyes, trying to relax. Hot water never ran out in the city and he wasn’t sure how long they stood there like that, long enough that she eventually reached for the soaked wig on her head.

“I am very plain without it but it hurts and I do not want to get out of the shower yet.” she warned in an embarrassed murmur, quickly picking out pins from the mess of damp synthetic hair.

“_Plain_.” he snorted because he didn’t think she could have been _plain _if she tried.

She dropped the wig on the shower’s tiles eventually and loose reddish blond hair tumbled down. From then on he could barely focus on anything else because… It was soft and slightly curly – at least until the water spray hit it – and he couldn’t stop toying with it.

“Gorgeous.” he commented without really meaning to. It slipped out.

But when she looked up at him in surprised pleasure, he didn’t regret it.

“Told you I would find a way to sneak into your shower, Princess.” he smirked.

She rolled her eyes but leaned back against him.

“Hold me, please.” she requested.

So he did.

At least until he couldn’t hide his body’s response to her proximity. He reluctantly drew back, clearing his throat. She didn’t seem fazed at all, she simply grabbed a towel, wrapped it around her chest and handed him another while she wriggled out from her wet underwear. How she managed to do that _without _showing anything, he didn’t know.

“I will just go slip something on.” she told him, stepping in the bedroom and pushing the bathroom door. She didn’t _close _it though and he had to force himself to get rid of his wet underwear and put his dry pants and shirt back on instead of following her like he really wanted to do. “Haymitch?” she called after a couple of minutes.

He didn’t ask if she was decent before pushing the door, maybe hoping a little that she wouldn’t be.

She was wearing a nightgown and she was already in bed, though. Which was good because that was what she should do. She had a shock and she looked terrible and a nap would do her good.

He considered the cot at the foot of her bed and then rolled his eyes and just lied down next to her, keeping on top of the covers. He placed the handgun Stanton had left in easy reach on the nightstand just in case.

It was a little awkward.

But when Effie curled up against his side with her head on his shoulder, he didn’t protest. He just wrapped his arm around her.

“That guy won’t get to you.” he swore. And he meant it.

“I fear he will get to all of us.” she replied tiredly.

He started playing with her hair distractedly, his eyes on the door.

“Not while I’m here.” he said. “Trust me.”

“I trust you.” she answered without a moment of hesitation.

She nuzzled his neck a little, her leg hooked over his, bringing most of the sheets with it… He made sure she was covered and warm, wary of her still being somewhat in shock.

She seemed to be waiting for him to do _something_, _start_ something maybe…

He knew if he were to kiss her, she wouldn’t resist. He knew if he chose to cross that line, she would step over it gladly…

Of course, it was the moment his conscience dictated him to act like a gentleman.

Not that he really cared about hurting her feelings later but…

Yeah.

Maybe he _did_ care a little…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, I was extreeeemely nice. I didn't kill Effie and I let Haymitch sneak into her shower. (really you all should know me better by now than thinking I would make the shower scene smutty XD, I'm surprised none of you saw that coming) They even get to cuddle! Am I not the nicest?


	7. Chapter 7

Effie woke up slowly, snuggling closer to the source of warmth at her side.

The bedroom was dark aside from a ray of light filtering through the slightly ajar door. She heard a noise outside and startled until she realized it must simply have been a Peacekeeper standing guard as usual. The reminder that Peacekeepers needed to guard her door made her remember what had happened the previous day, what she had _seen_, and she had to bite down on her bottom lip to keep quiet. She wouldn’t cry again. She wouldn’t lose it. She wouldn’t…

Haymitch had gotten under the covers at some point.

She closed her eyes again, focused on him because it was easier by far than thinking about the fact someone hated escorts enough to hunt them down and hurt them like that. He smelt good – which was not always a given with him. He smelt like her favorite soap, a faint hint of liquor and something that was simply _manly_. She had missed having someone in her bed.

He wasn’t entirely asleep, she could tell. His hand had cradled the back of her head when she had startled and his fingers were now lazily combing her hair, tangling in the curls, playing with them… She couldn’t remember anyone ever doing that because she couldn’t remember purposefully letting someone see her with her natural hair – at least not when it wasn’t straightened and dyed a vibrant color which was not a hairdo she would willingly let someone mess up like that. It felt good. _Relaxing_. She supposed that was the point: to lull her back to sleep.

She felt wide awake though.

She wasn’t sure what time it was but it must have been late because she could glimpse the city nightlights through the window. She had probably slept the whole afternoon away. She hoped somebody had filled out Four’s sponsoring pledges after her meltdown.

Flashes of blood and Sofia’s torn throat filled her mind and she buried her face in Haymitch’s shoulder hard enough to hurt. His other hand ended up on her thigh, under the blankets and his thumb rubbed comforting circles on her skin. She hadn’t even realized her leg was hooked over his hip and she wasn’t entirely sure how high her nightgown was riding. She wasn’t certain she cared about the impropriety of it either. It wasn’t like they were undressed, she could feel the rough fabric of his day pants against her legs.

And it bothered her.

She wanted skin on skin. She wanted to _forget_. She wanted…

Her hand was on his chest and it was a quick and easy job to undo one of the buttons of his shirt, to slip her hand inside until it met warm flesh.

He had hairs on his chest and that fascinated her enough that she spent several minutes toying with it, petting and tugging a little… All the Capitol men she knew kept themselves perfectly groomed, they were all smooth and soft. Haymitch was anything but. Her range of movements was limited but her fingertips eventually bumped against his nipple and she heard him suck in a breath.

His head fell toward hers, his hand traveled down from her head to her hip, hauled her whole body upward a little so he could speak directly in her ear. “Your puppy bodyguard is sleeping at the foot of the bed.”

It was barely a whisper.

She tensed for a second, long enough to listen _hard _for the now familiar breathing of the man sleeping on the cot in front of her bed. It was there indeed. Albert’s soft snores. Asleep then. That left whoever was standing guard at her open door but…

She slipped her hand out of Haymitch’s shirt, trailed it up to his neck, to his cheek… She drew back a little, so she could see him in the semi-obscurity. He looked both amused and aroused. When she leaned in, he didn’t try to stop her.

“I can be quiet.” she challenged.

Her breath rolled over his lips. His recoil was brief but she caught it all the same and she frowned… At least until she remembered that she had been sick twice the previous day and hadn’t brushed her teeth – and _that_ on top of natural morning breath.

Her eyes widened in realization. Haymitch winced and opened his mouth, probably to tell her it was fine, but she had already bolted out of bed with an embarrassed yelp and rushed to the bathroom.

“Effie?” Albert immediately called out. She heard the bedroom door being slammed open by the Peacekeeper on duty, light flooded the room…

“I am fine!” she answered, flicking on the lights in the bathroom a little more calmly. “Perfectly fine.”

“Are you sure?” her bodyguard insisted.

“She’s fine, she says.” Haymitch grumbled, his voice and footsteps coming closer to the bathroom.

She hurried in squeezing toothpaste on her toothbrush and crammed the whole thing in her mouth. She wasn’t sure what was worse, that he had smelt her awful breath or that he might see her brushing her teeth. How was she supposed to remain _glamorous_ when…

She caught sight of herself in the mirror and almost _gaped_ in dismay.

Her hair had been wet when she had crashed into bed and, as usual when not tended to properly, had dried in wild curls that were anything but pretty. She had never taken off her make-up either and there were smudges of it on her face, patches of foundation powder, glittery lines of eyeliner running down her cheeks and lipstick on her chin.

Of course, that was the moment Haymitch stepped inside the bathroom and she yelped again, turning her back to him with her toothbrush still in her mouth. Her eyes fell on the still wet underwear he must have placed on the rim of the bathtub the previous afternoon.

“Don’t look at me!” she shouted, panicked. At least, that was what she tried to shout but with the toothpaste and the toothbrush in her mouth in came out as an indecipherable gurgle.

“Effie, are you sure you’re alright?” Albert insisted, his own voice coming closer to the bathroom.

“Can you give us some _fucking_ privacy?” Haymitch snapped.

“Don’t you dare close that door!” the Peacekeeper warned.

She hastily kept on brushing her teeth with her back turned to them both, feeling around the sink behind her with her free hand for her emergency wipes. The argument swelled and she let it if only because it gave her time to try and fix her face. Haymitch ended up having the last word and pushed the door almost all the way close in Albert’s face though.

She was still frantically rubbing her cheeks while brushing her teeth with her non dominant hand – a feat a lot more difficult to accomplish than it seemed – when he placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her around. She squeaked and tried to hide her face again but he held firm, a frown on his face.

“What bee got in your pants now?” he mocked.

_What pants?_ she almost wanted to retort because her purple nightgown was probably one of the sexiest she owned – certainly not one she had worn in front of Albert before – and in normal circumstances she would have made a seductive show of it. In normal circumstances. If she hadn’t had toothpaste in her mouth, smudge make-up all over her face and hair curling wildly around her face. Without mentioning the killer who might want her dead.

Embarrassed and her cheeks flushed crimson, she spat the toothpaste in the sink, rinsed her mouth – twice to waste time – and finally looked back up at him. If anything he looked even more amused than before. His grey eyes were twinkling madly, he was clearly fighting off one of those mocking smirks of his and it was all so infuriating than she rolled her eyes, grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him down.

She had never really pondered the height difference before. With her heels, she usually was at head level with him. Without them, she barely reached his chin.

The kiss was brutal, of course. Their first kiss was _always_ going to be brutal. Years of pent-up tension and attraction didn’t make for a gentle first kiss. She tugged him into her and he came willingly, caging her against the sink even as his mouth crashed against her, _devoured _hers without patience or skills. Her fingers ran up, tangled in his too long hair, tilted his head the other way… She slipped her tongue in his mouth so he slipped his leg between hers. Her back knocked on the sink hard and something crashed to the floor…

“Effie?” Albert called out.

She startled and broke the kiss, her eyes immediately flying to the not-quite closed door. The Peacekeeper must have been standing _right _in front of it, there was no way he hadn’t heard what was happening inside. The kissing noises, their ragged breathing… And he sounded both incensed and… Was that jealousy she detected in his tone?

She met Haymitch’s eyes and he reluctantly stepped back after licking his lips, his gaze darting down to her mouth with obvious regret.

“Effie?” Albert insisted but, this time, he pushed the door too.

“I am fine.” she answered belatedly, turning back to take care of the make-up disaster.

“Clearly.” the Peacekeeper deadpanned, glaring at the two of them in turns. “You know the rules, please don’t linger in the bathroom.”

Haymitch rolled his eyes and leaned against the wall, obviously determined to wait her out. She was a little annoyed not to be allowed the privacy to wash her own face in peace but then she remembered Two’s new escort’s missing eye and Sofia’s gaping throat and she swallowed back her protests. There were worse things than two men focused on keeping her alive right then.

She did a quick job of cleaning herself up and then turned around to face them both, crossing her arms in front of her chest, feeling too exposed, and then uncrossing them just as quickly first because she refused to betray any sign of nervousness and then because it only served to shift their attention to her breasts.

“You want to go back to bed, sweetheart?” Haymitch suggested. “It’s still early and you could use the rest.” She hesitated, glancing at the bedroom behind Albert. The perspective of climbing back in bed with Haymitch might have been enticing if it hadn’t meant doing so in front of Peacekeepers. As if reading her mind, her victor buried his hands in his pockets. “I’m gonna head back to my room, yeah?”

Going back to bed alone was not an option. Not right then. She would have nightmares and she wasn’t allowed access to her sleeping pills to counter them.

“Can we go to the roof? I _truly_ need a cigarette.” She turned toward Albert with pleading eyes and a begging tone.

The Peacekeeper regretfully shook his head. “It’s not safe.”

“Is there _any_ safe place left?” she scoffed and then pushed past the two of them, suddenly annoyed. The bedroom felt too oppressive even with the lights on. She rummaged into the dresser’s drawer, not quite sure what she was looking for until she located the pink leggings she usually used for exercising. She slipped them on under her nightgown and then slipped _that _off, aware of the two identical sucking of breath behind her, aware that both Haymitch and Albert were watching.

Well. Her naked back wasn’t that entertaining but let them watch if that floated their boat, perhaps they would stop fighting for five minutes then.

She slipped on a silky top, not bothering with a bra, grabbed the silver lighter Finnick had gifted her with for her birthday a couple of years back as well as her packet of cigarettes and then she was off again, ignoring the calls of her name.

The Peacekeeper standing guard at her door seemed at a loss but quickly followed her. The one who was patrolling the floor watched them pass, stunned.

She supposed she was a sight what with her crazy hair, the lack of make-up, the pink leggings and the lavender top. Not to mention the three men trailing behind her. When she pushed open the door that led up to the roof staircase, Albert grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

“Let her go.” Haymitch immediately warned, little more than a growl really, his own hand falling on the Peacekeeper’s shoulder. The other Peacekeeper lifted his gun and aimed at him.

Effie glared at the guy and shrugged Albert’s grip off in the same move. “If you shoot a victor, I can personally _guarantee_ you will finish your life without a tongue.”

The man hesitated and then lowered his gun a little.

“Effie, I know you had a shock but be reasonable.” Albert requested. “The roof is off-limit. You know…”

“I know I need a cigarette.” she cut him off. “And I will be having one with or without your permission.”

Her bodyguard scowled. “I could have you cuffed to your bed for your own protection.”

“I’d like to see _that_.” Haymitch snorted with honest amusement. Perhaps because he knew perfectly well nobody would do that to her without her consent and live to tell the tale.

“I want a cigarette.” she stated again, detaching every syllable. “And I _will_ have one.”

The challenge was clear and Albert, after staring at her for a long minute, finally stepped back to turn to the other Peacekeeper. “Guard her. I will check the roof.” The look he flashed Effie wasn’t friendly. “You wait _here_. No more theatrics.” He glanced at Haymitch next. “Make sure she waits.”

The moment Albert had disappeared through the door that led to the roof, Haymitch glared the other Peacekeeper into backing off a little so he wasn’t so in their space. They sat down mid-staircase, leaving the guard at the bottom of the steps.

Was that what her life had come down to? Being happy about having _that _little intimacy?

“I’m all about annoying this guy, you know…” Haymitch said slowly. “And the bathroom rule is over the top but he’s got a point about the roof. It’s exposed.”

“Good thing I am not in danger of taking an arrow to the heart any longer then, isn’t it?” she replied bitterly and then dropped her face in her hands. “I am just _so_ tired…”

He sighed and placed a hand on her back. “I know, sweetheart, but that guy can run forever. He’s becoming too cocky.”

“And yet he is still getting away with it.” she remarked. “It has been _months _of this. I cannot take it much longer.”

He let out another sigh. “Make it a quick cigarette, alright? Not for your puppy bodyguard’s sake but for mine.”

She tentatively leaned against his side, pleased by this semi-admission that he worried about her. His arm wrapped around her and she closed her eyes, feeling safe and content. Perhaps that should have been the answer. She should have accepted to go back to bed with him, lied down in his arms and bask in that feeling of safety he somehow seemed to inspire.

“Are we going to talk about the kiss?” she whispered.

She wasn’t sure where they stood on that front. They had always been flirty but that year they were crossing the line. They _had _crossed the line. She wasn’t certain how wise it was. Anything between them was doomed before it even began. It was hopeless. It was the worst idea ever. It was…

… something she _really_ wanted.

“Sure.” His tone was teasing but there was an underlying tension behind it, as if he was just as confused as she was by the whole thing. “Good kiss. Bit toothpasty. Maybe less teeth next time.”

Despite her best intentions, she laughed.

“You are a ridiculous man.” she accused.

She looked up at him, about to tell him she wasn’t fooled and she knew he was trying to take her mind off things but before she could do that, he brushed his lips against hers. Twice. Then he kissed her properly and it was like a switch had been flicked in her brain. She stopped thinking, she stopped worrying… All that existed was that very moment.

“Maybe…” he mumbled against her mouth. “Maybe we don’t try to _define _this stuff, yeah? We don’t make it complicated.”

“We see where it goes?” she offered, passing a leg over his and settling on his lap. His hands shot to her hips but if he had any problems with her straddling him, he seemed to get over them quickly when she kissed him again.

“Yeah.” he agreed. His lips followed the line of her jaw, the stubble leaving a delightful burn in its wake, and her head fell back a little. “We see where it goes.” His mouth latched at her exposed throat, sucking the skin in between his teeth. “Maybe not _right now_ though.” He kissed his way up her neck and back to her mouth. “I think we’re giving your other Peacekeeper a boner.”

A part of her might have worried about it if she hadn’t been followed and spied on for the last couple of months. She was very used to not having privacy by now and she wanted this more than she cared about being seen.

“Do you mean like yours?” she mocked, leaning in to bite on his earlobe.

His fingers clenched her waist and he groaned. “Minx.”

The door to the roof creaked and she looked up behind Haymitch’s shoulder, annoyed to see Albert’s figure silhouetted in the moonlight. She would have exchanged the cigarette against fifteen minutes alone at that point. She was certain she could get something satisfactory in fifteen minutes with Haymitch. She was _desperate. _

Albert, unsurprisingly, didn’t seem particularly pleased to find them in that position.

Effie didn’t gratify his patent disapproval with a remark. Not only was she still angry about the comments he had made about Haymitch and Twelve’s tributes but she was steadily growing less and less confident that Peacekeepers would save escorts from their fate.

She slowly stood up and gathered her things before frowning at Haymitch who had yet to move. “Aren’t you coming?”

“Yeah. Give me a minute.” he muttered.

She flashed him an amused smile and sauntered up the stairs and past Albert, almost moaning in pleasure when she felt the night air on her face. It had been _months _since she had been allowed that much liberty. She was allowed out at night to go to official parties and the likes but she was also rushed in and out of cars and couldn’t _enjoy _it.

She made her way to the low wall and leaned against it as was her habit, trying not to let Albert’s contagious anxiety spoil the moment. She lit her cigarette and savored the taste of tobacco. It was the little things that made life worthwhile and she had been forbidden access to them for too long.

She couldn’t get Sofia’s face from her head. How long had it been since _she _had been allowed a little pleasure like a cigarette? What about Della? Or Valeria? Or any of the others?

Her anger had turned to sorrow by the time Haymitch joined her next to the wall. He perched himself on it, as was _his _habit. Unlike other years, she didn’t remind him that it was dangerous – and that while a fall wouldn’t kill him thanks to the force field, it might annoy Gamemakers. Unlike other years, he wasn’t carrying a bottle of alcohol.

“What happened earlier?” she asked. “How could it happen _on the Gamemakers’ floor?_”

Haymitch found Albert’s eyes and it was the Peacekeeper who answered.

“Since none of them had been targeted yet, the newest escorts were assigned lighter security details.” the Peacekeeper explained. “Head Gamemaker Crane’s mistake obviously.”

She briefly closed her eyes, hoping her friend wouldn’t pay dearly for that mistake. It was no secret President Snow wasn’t exactly pleased with this whole _escorts dying_ business. The Capitol was being made a joke of and that wasn’t something he could ever tolerate.

“They gave her only one Peacekeeper.” Haymitch scoffed. “That girl didn’t stand a chance.”

There was no real sympathy in his voice but she wasn’t surprised. He hadn’t known her and they were working in a business were death was common trade. She was sad at the loss of her life herself but she was more affected by Sofia’s death.

“Her Peacekeeper was knocked down. When he woke up, he was locked in a cupboard.” Albert continued. “We think she was attacked on her way to submit pledges. The floor was almost deserted it was a perfect trap.”

“And Sofia?” she asked.

“Her security detail lost sight of her in the crowd.” The Peacekeeper winced. “The working theory is that she must have been desperate to get the pledges to the office to impress the Gamemakers, the same way Two’s replacement and you were, and that she decided against waiting for her bodyguards to find her. They don’t think they were killed in the same spot. He dragged the other girl’s body back to where he had left Sofia’s.”

She shivered but it wasn’t from the cold. She brought the cigarette to her lips and exhaled slowly. So he had taken the time to stage the murder scene. He had been so confident he wouldn’t get caught that he had dragged a poor dead girl over the span of corridors. She didn’t even ask about security cameras. Every time before the cameras had been disabled in advance or he had taken care to stay in their dead spots.

But the fact that he clearly didn’t fear justice… She had been right there, strolling down the very same corridors he had been, thinking about what she would order for lunch and at any moment she could have walked in on him and… “I could have been next.”

“He would never have taken us all down.” Albert argued. “You were safe. You _are _perfectly safe as long as you follow the rules we…”

“Yeah.” Haymitch cut him off, reaching for her free hand. “You could have been next.”

“She was…” the Peacekeeper started arguing and Haymitch lifted his hand to stop him.

“She was in that _fucking_ corridor, on that _fucking_ floor, and that guy proved more than once he’s smarter than the lot of you.” he spat. “Don’t tell me he couldn’t have taken you all down ‘cause, _newsflash_, yeah, he probably _could_ have. Only takes a couple of seconds to shoot three guys. She was in danger. She’s gonna be in danger until that guy’s been arrested. No use sugar-coating.”

“No one has ever been sugar-coating it, I assure you.” Effie retorted. “Everyone has always been perfectly clear about the danger we were in.”

“Which is why we should get back inside.” Albert triumphed. “Look… There is no need for you to worry, Effie, I _promised _you I would keep you alive. But there is no point being reckless either. Let’s just… Let’s keep you in the penthouse. You don’t have to go out anymore. You’re out of the Games. Let’s keep you where you’re safe and where we can keep a close eye on you.”

Let’s put her in a gilded cage for her own protection…

Let’s trap her in a glass tower…

Let’s treat her like a child…

“Four…” she started arguing.

“Finnick has an escort.” Haymitch interrupted. “Maybe she sucks but that’s his problem, not ours. You’re _Twelve_’s escort and _I_’m putting my foot down. No more _lending_ _you_ crap. I already told Crane I needed you. There’s tons of paperwork to do.”

She pursed her lips. “I am _always_ on top of the paperwork.”

“Not what Crane said.” Haymitch shrugged with a very pleased look. “Seems like a bunch of it went missing. You’ve got to do it all over again.”

_When _had he arranged all that exactly? It implied he had sneaked out of her room and back in her bed at some point.

“Very well.” she gave in, after a moment.

It wasn’t like she had a choice in the matter anyway, was it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so they kissed... Not quite the romantic first kiss Effie would have prefered I guess XD So... how safe do you think they will be staying in the penthouse? How safe is Seneca's ass ? How fed up is Snow? Let me know your thoughts!


	8. Chapter 8

Effie and Haymitch stared at each other long and hard, locked in a terrible battle of will.

She refused to cave and avert her eyes first.

After a long moment, he gave in with a brief exasperated scoff. “You could at least _pretend_ to let me win, you know.”

She chuckled and studied the cards in her hand, already knowing she was going to win another round but careful to keep her face blank. She distractedly reached for another pillow on the couch and shifted a little. The floor wasn’t entirely comfortable even with the thick plushy carpet but neither of them had wanted to settle down in the dining-room so they had ended up sitting on the living-room floor, on either side of the coffee table, playing poker.

Well, Effie was playing poker, Haymitch was doing a very poor imitation of it.

“It is a good thing we did not bet real money.” she pointed out, lowering her cards and, once he had groaned and tossed his in disgust, she swept the little pile of hazelnuts, almonds and walnuts toward her.

It had been her idea to use the nuts. As far as she could remember there had been a bowl full of them in the penthouse’s living-room and neither of them ever ate them. At least, that way, they had found a use for them. They had divided them into two equal piles but after having spent half the night and a good part of the morning playing with her, Haymitch’s share was quickly disappearing. He had enjoyed a lucky strike a little after they had stopped to watch the sun rise over the Capitol but, since then, she had taken back the lead.

“Told you we should have played strip-poker.” he taunted.

Their eyes met again as she was dealing another hand. The brush of his fingers against hers when he grabbed his cards wasn’t accidental. She could read the same hunger on his face that she felt deep down.

The kisses were still vivid in her memory and she wanted _more_. Had it been any other time, any other year, she would have long pushed him against the closest surface and taken what she wanted. Strip-poker might have been a fun way to get there if she had found the patience. She _doubted_ she would have found the patience. Their particular game of cat and mouse was becoming too tiring.

The audible shift of fabric not too far behind her reminded her why that wasn’t a possibility either way. Two Peacekeepers were leaning against the wall, the third one was relentlessly patrolling the penthouse.

Sex, right then, was not on the table.

Unfortunately.

“So eager to get naked?” she retorted in the same playful tone.

His grey eyes roamed on her face, down her throat, lingered on her breasts… When he looked back up, he was smirking. “Always.”

She blushed at the open _lust _he wasn’t bothering to hide. She felt a little giddy, mainly because she still hadn’t bothered to re-apply any make-up or put on some fancy outfit. She had never looked that natural in front of a man and triggered that kind of reaction and it was admittedly thrilling. She was pretty sure no Capitol would have responded that way but Haymitch seemed to find it normal so, perhaps, District people didn’t bother looking their best for their significant other. What did she know?

“I believe the aim would be to get _me _naked.” she pointed out.

“Don’t need cards for that.” he challenged.

Behind her, Albert let out a very audible sigh. An irritated sigh. A sigh he had no right to utter.

She had been doing fine with the man for two months. They had cohabitated, they had been on friendly terms even. She had made efforts to make sure it would work out and he had done his best not to impose too much on her space. They had _made it work_. But ever since Reaping Day, she had been having troubles bearing his presence. He clearly disliked Haymitch, which didn’t plead in his favor with her – although the animosity was obviously mutual – but the real kicker was how judgmental he was about Twelve’s team’s friendship. If that was the correct term to use.

She had to bite down on her tongue to stop herself from ordering him to be _silent_. Peacekeepers should have gone unseen and unheard. She should not have to tolerate Albert’s inappropriate comments.

He was her bodyguard, not her father and, since she had never even suffered her own father meddling in her love life, she did not see why she would have to endure _his_ unsolicited opinion on who she flirted with.

The only good side to the Peacekeeper’s jealousy – was it even jealousy? Yes, she could admit she was aware Albert was attracted to her and she had flirted back a few times out of boredom but… – was that it made Haymitch’s own possessive nature flare.

“Something to say?” Twelve’s victor predictably snapped, his eyes darting behind her shoulder and to the side where Albert was standing.

It completely ruined the illusion that they were simply having a nice time together. She had been working hard to pretend the guards weren’t there.

She stretched her arms over her head with a sigh of her own, bringing everyone’s attention back to her. Haymitch’s gaze flew to her midriff where the top had inched up and skin was now visible. As for Albert, given where he was standing, she supposed he was getting a good look down her cleavage.

It had the dual benefit of putting an end to the argument before it began.

“I think it is safe to say I won.” she declared, glancing at the clock. It was early still but not enough that breakfast wouldn’t be served in the dining-room yet.

“Next time we play chess.” Haymitch grumbled. “I’m gonna crush you at chess.”

He crushed _everyone_ at chess and it would hardly be fair, she wanted to point out, but she was more focused on her rumbling stomach and she was about to suggest they found something to eat when the elevator chimed.

They both looked toward the corridor with the same confused frown.

A frown that only deepened when Eleven’s escort strutted in the living-room like she belonged there, trailed by her own three Peacekeepers, one of them carrying a dress suit cover bag instead of his gun.

Viola looked, as usual, radiant, if a little too sexy for that time of day. She was wearing a pink wig so light it almost looked white under a certain light and a crimson form-fitting lacy dress that looked too casual not to be chic. She also had on excessive golden jewelry that contrasted nicely on her dark skin. 

Haymitch scowled. “Hate to break it to you but you got the wrong floor, sweetheart.”

Effie slowly stood up as was only polite, willing to welcome their guest – even if she was unwelcome. “Viola.”

Viola’s lips twitched in a cruel smile once her eyes had swept over her up and down. “Am I interrupting? Or is this a new trend you are hoping to launch? Let me tell you District rag will _not_ take.”

Belatedly remembering her lack of prepping, she glared at her rival. “Do you not know it is rude to show up unannounced?”

“And uninvited.” Haymitch muttered. He hadn’t bother standing up but he did reach for the bottle at his side, the one he had hardly touched since they had sat down, and he swallowed a long mouthful. It was provocative mostly, Effie figured, dismissive almost.

“Well, I hate to interrupt your cheap foreplay or whatever this is…” Viola mocked in a tone that implied she truly _wasn’t_. “… but you missed quite a bit while you were locked here giving in to your hysterics and I have been assigned the tedious task of bringing you up to speed.”

Eleven’s escort walked toward the liquor’s cart without being invited to do so and fixed herself a drink.

Haymitch snorted. “Make yourself at home.”

Effie tossed him a glare, aware that she _should _have offered Viola some sort of beverage and that she was lacking as a hostess. Her mother would have been appalled.

“Wouldn’t you prefer some tea?” she suggested, watching Viola mix several hard liquors with wariness. It was _really _early for that. Even for Viola who liked her parties. “We were just about to sit down for breakfast. I can ring an Avox if…”

“We do not have time for breakfast.” Viola cut her off. “Well… _I _do. But given the state of you, it will take you hours to prep. We have to be downstairs before noon for interviews.”

“What?” Haymitch cut in, hauling himself off the floor and to an armchair. “The _fuck_ do you mean? Effie _ain’t_ going out. I talked to Crane yesterday and…”

“Do not shout at me like the oaf you are, Haymitch Abernathy. I am only the messenger.” Viola snapped, taking a sip of her drink. “The interviews are _not_ optional.”

“Is it the losing Districts interviews?” Effie asked, looking around for the TV remote. “Are the Games over already?”

Two days in, it would have been a first but she supposed it could happen. What a disappointing season it would make though… People would be bored and ratings would be low. That would mean more horrors for the next year and that would mean their tributes would suffer even more.

“Who even cares about the Games, this year?” Viola deadpanned, pursing her lips. Her green lipstick had left a stain on the rim of her glass. “Nobody is watching. The sponsors are all about us. _That_ is what they are betting on. Which one of us will die and which one of us will live.”

“Imagine that…” Haymitch commented bitterly, leaning down against the back of the armchair to better stare at Eleven’s escort. “A taste of your own medicine.” Effie flinched and while he looked a little sorry when he glanced at her, she could tell he actually meant it. She wasn’t sure it wasn’t warranted either. “I’ll do the losing interviews by myself.” he added. “Effie’s staying here. I’ve got an agreement with Crane and…”

“Aren’t you _listening_?” Viola hissed. “Whatever agreement you made, it is now worthless. Seneca is under fire. Nobody cares about the Games, all they care about is _us_. The interviews isn’t about losing Districts or keeping up appearances anymore.”

“Oh.” Effie breathed out, catching up. “The Gamemakers are embracing it. They are…”

“Prepping us up and flaunting us out like tributes?” Eleven’s escort finished with barely suppressed anger. “_You bet_. Time to feed the monster, Euphemia.” She gestured at the Peacekeeper with the suit cover bag, it was black and Effie couldn’t guess at what was inside. “We each were given one. A gift from the Gamemakers. Or, as I prefer to call it, a _bribe_. Seneca handpicked yours, I am told. I suppose he hopes you will take it as an apology. ”

Effie took the bag from the soldier and unzipped it. Pink taffeta spilled out. It was a long dress, the upper part was adorned in precious gemstones and she could guess at a sweetheart neckline. She recognized the designer’s work and estimated the dress probably cost _a lot_. It was typically the kind of clothes they would lend escorts for a particular night, not _give away_.

“Why wasn’t I informed about these interviews?” Albert cut in. Quite rudely.

Viola’s dark eyes turned to the Peacekeeper long enough to make him _feel _all the weight of her contempt. She didn’t like being addressed by people she considered _lesser_.

“It’s gonna go to this guy’s head.” Haymitch predicted. “Interviews are a bad idea. If they make the Capitol an arena…”

“My take is that they are trying to draw him out.” Viola answered, finishing her glass in one long mouthful. “And we are the bait. Isn’t that wonderful?”

The question was so clearly rhetorical that Effie snorted. “At least we will go down in style.”

She gestured at the dress she had draped over the back of the couch.

“I certainly do _not_ intend to go down.” Viola declared. “But if you are volunteering to go first, I will happily use you as a shield. I _am _supposed to get my head bashed in, you realize.”

“How unappealing.” Effie deadpanned. “And yet _so_ fitting given how inflated it is.” 

Eleven’s escort’s lips twitched with dry amusement but she didn’t actually smile. “I will see you downstairs. It is _not_ optional, as I said, do _not_ make me come up again and get you. It is bad enough I have to make sure Chaff is presentable, I will _not_ appreciate having to babysit you too.”

Viola stormed out the same way she had stormed in, murder in her strides.

Once the elevator doors closed, Effie turned to Haymitch, her hands on her hips. “Please, shower and shave. The dove grey suit will do for a midday public appearance. Do not wear a red or a purple waistcoat, it would clash with this pink dress.” She thought hard and fast, mentally reviewing his wardrobe. “The navy blue would be acceptable, the one with silver embroideries. Tie is optional but do not leave too many buttons undone like you are prone to do.”

“Wait.” Albert insisted. “I’m in charge of your security and I wasn’t made aware. I need to make sure this thing is legit and…”

“Viola hates me but she would not invent something like this simply to get me in troubles. I doubt she would try to trick me into getting murdered, either.” Effie interrupted. “This comes from the Gamemakers and that means…”

“_I don’t care_ where it comes from. I haven’t received any orders yet and since I am responsible for you, I think…” the Peacekeeper cut her off.

“Gamemakers’ word is law. She’s _got_ to go or that psycho is gonna be the last of her problems.” Haymitch spat, using the armrests of the armchair behind him as leverage to get to his feet. He looked tired and old all of a sudden. Extremely worried too. “That sort of interviews… Backstage’s gonna be crazy.”

It would be a bee hive. Prep teams running around, cameramen and producing crew buzzing everywhere… Live television was a machine that needed workers. It would be _very_ easy for anyone to sneak in.

It would be _far_ too easy, in fact.

But, she supposed, that was what the Gamemakers were counting on.

That this guy wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation of it…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poker and Viola... What a nice morning, yeah? What do you think will happen at the interviews?


	9. Chapter 9

They all looked perfectly ridiculous and Effie was well aware of it.

She spotted them as soon as they all stepped into the backstage area of the shooting studio. Escorts were all clustered together, not too far from the short wings that led to the stage where she could hear Caesar doing a sound check. Their Peacekeepers all stuck close to the gaggle, anxious and weary, their hands on their guns, getting in the way of all the staff members who were running around. Prep teams, she could see, were valiantly trying to do some last minute make-up adjustments and there was the familiar pink haired girl with a pixie cut – who she knew to be Caesar’s personal assistant – trying to give instructions over the general noise.

All the escorts looked ridiculous, herself included, because they were dressed to the nine and it wasn’t even noon. Clearly the Gamemakers had spared no expense on the outfits since all the others were wearing dresses just as fabulous and expensive as her own. But why go to all that trouble to schedule a midday event – where they would all look over-dressed – instead of waiting for that evening?

_Because they expected another one of them to be gone by then._

“Remember the rules.” Albert reminded her, a bit tersely. His eyes were darting around the room, mapping exits and potential threats.

“I stay with you at all times when I am not on stage and when he show is over I wait on stage for you to find me.” she dutifully droned out. He had spent the whole time she had been doing her hair drilling it into her head.

She could have done without Haymitch sitting down on her bed while she was doing her make-up to give his own recommendations. She could also have done without the knife currently strapped to her thigh, certain as she was that it would show under the line of the dress. There were slits and her legs showed every time she walked and she didn’t want anyone to think…

_Think_ _what? That you don’t want to die?_, Haymitch had scoffed when she had – vocally – objected. He hadn’t been deterred and hadn’t been happy until he had clipped the strap around her thigh and made sure she knew out to slid the knife out if need be – and it probably said it all about how much she needed to get laid that the simple accidental stroke of his fingers on her inner thighs had aroused her so much. She wasn’t sure where he had found the whole contraption and she wished she felt better now that she was armed – something she had expected Albert to protest but he had wholeheartedly approved instead – but all she felt was dread. The length of the knife was rigid and heavy against her thigh, a constant reminder that she wasn’t safe.

Truth be told, she would have felt safer if Haymitch had been standing there with her but victors had been requested to attend the red carpet outside and, as a consequence, he would be sitting in the audience during the show.

“There you are.” Viola sneered when she spotted her. “I was starting to believe you _would _make me fetch you.”

“Your nose is shiny.” she retorted mercilessly.

A member of a prep team immediately jumped on Eleven’s escort to pat her nose with more foundation powder.

“How are you, Effie?” Livia asked, immediately reaching for her hand. Her soft green eyes were full of tears she hastily blinked away. “I am so sorry you had to find Sofia.”

Effie forced a smile for Six’s escort even as she assured her she was feeling better.

However it was at that moment, with her friends – and Viola – surrounding her that she realized the sad truth: there were only five original escorts left. Six, Seven, Eight, Eleven and Twelve. Not the most prestigious Districts and perhaps that was what had saved them. Perhaps.

A general hush fell backstage as the time for the show grew nearer and the five of them unconsciously drifted closer together and further away from the newer younger escorts who all looked terrified out their minds.

“Who is representing Two?” Effie asked Livia.

It was Polly who answered. Polly had sworn at the end of the last Victory Tour that she would be retiring soon because there was _no way _she could deal with Johanna Mason as a mentor. She should have made good on that promise, Effie mused. “They brought back Eloise.”

“_Eloise_?” She almost squeaked the name.

Eloise Artemus was a _legend _amongst escorts. She had been Two’s escort for a good decade, forty years earlier. She was now in her mid-seventies, happily – and wealthily – married to a powerful former sponsor and she was so influential it was said Gamemakers still consulted her when it came to spicing things up in the arena.

“I heard President Snow _himself _called her and asked her to come back for the rest of the season.” Livia whispered, nudging Effie’s elbow and discreetly nodding at one of the doors. Eloise Artemus walked in with the bearing of a queen and the serenity of someone who _couldn’t _have been worried about her survival chances, although it might have had to do with the fact she had twice the number of Peacekeepers on her trail the lot of them did. “Apparently, the Gamemakers feel she can weather any storm.”

It was unprecedented to have an active escort that old, never mind a _married_ one. Escorts were supposed to sell a dream.

Then again, it was unprecedented to have escorts dying left and right. They must have been at their wits end trying to replace them.

“She’s the bait.” Viola commented with a disdainful snort. “She’s _legendary_. People are still talking about her as _Two’s escort_. They are probably betting the killer won’t want to miss that opportunity.”

“Ladies.” Eloise nodded at them as she passed, an amused smile on her lips as if she knew perfectly well they had been gossiping about her and she couldn’t care less. Why _would_ she care? They were all very high on society’s ladder but she was _towering_ over them still.

When Six, Seven and Eight’s escorts rushed to tell her just what an honor it was to meet her, Effie hung back. Viola did too. She did not need to look at her rival to know they shared the same opinion on the subject, _they _bowed to no one, legends or not.

“You know they are having us walk on stage one after the other in District order?” Viola told her, turning away from the agitation and toward the stage. Caesar was getting his make-up fixed. It wouldn’t be long now. “We get a five minutes talk each with Caesar and then a twenty minutes common Q&A.”

Effie’s mouth was dry. “Not very subtle.”

The hint to the tributes interviews couldn’t have been more glaring if they had waved a poster above their heads claiming in capital letters that they would die soon.

Music boomed, Caesar’s pink haired assistant hushed them all and gave them a countdown… Then the show started; after a couple of minutes One’s new escort strolled on stage when Caesar called her name.

By the time Caesar unveiled Two’s escort – a surprise still apparently – and Eloise walked on stage under the wild applause of the crowd, to assure everyone she wasn’t scared of some crazy person with a grudge against the most beautiful women of their time, a small argument had started backstage between staff members and Peacekeepers.

There were too many Peacekeepers and they were making it hard for everyone to do their job. No escort offered to send their own protection team further back though.

Effie glanced at Albert who remained steadfast and refused to get involved in the fight. He stood at her back, close enough to touch almost and made it very clear he wasn’t going anywhere.

Eventually, the staff managed to convince the Peacekeepers to, at least, stand aside, and everything went back to normal. As normal as could be.

Escorts went on stage, got their five minutes chance to shine like any tribute would and the closer they got to the end of the line, the more Effie felt sick. They had gotten Ten a new girl to replace Sofia. She wasn’t sure she was even of age. She looked younger than some of the tributes did and a little panicked. It took Effie several minutes to finally place her face. She believed her to act in one of those soap operas very few people watched.

The Gamemakers truly were scratching the bottom of the barrel.

“We could always quit.” The words left her mouth as soon as Ten’s new escort walked on stage. Viola was standing next to her, waiting for her own turn, the shimmery yellow of her outfit clashing with the soft pink of hers. “I have always wanted to own a designer house. And you could open a modeling agency. Has it not always been your retirement plan? We do not have to stay here and risk our lives.”

“The only way we are quitting is in our coffins.” Eleven’s escort retorted, low enough that it didn’t carry. She didn’t specify why, Effie didn’t need her to anyway. Gamemakers wouldn’t let any of them go and if one of them made trouble _now_… “Besides, we are not quitters.”

“No.” Effie granted under her breath. “We are _not_.”

And yet, when Viola walked on stage, and she had to remain alone backstage for the five minutes of Eleven’s turn, she was very tempted to simply turn around and make a run for it.

She felt watched.

It started as a prickle at the base of her nape and evolved into a full body shiver.

She felt watched.

Was it only paranoia? When she glanced around all she saw were Peacekeepers. A sea of white uniforms.

She took a deep breath and took one step closer to Albert. She was very much in his space now, a lot more than was proper, but she felt better once his shoulder bumped against hers.

Not safe because her nape was still prickling but better.

O°O°O°O°O

Haymitch dropped in the empty seat next to Chaff with a disgraceful _humph _that would probably have warranted him a lecture if his escort had been around. The audience was slowly filling up and he was already done with the whole thing. It was stupid to expose escorts like that, stupid to taunt a serial killer by dangling them in front of him and even more stupid to make this whole a thing a sort of tributes interviews parody. But that was the Capitol for you and he wasn’t even surprised.

“Please, tell me you’ve got booze.” Eleven’s victor begged.

Haymitch wordlessly handed him the flask he had barely touched in the last couple of weeks. He had been keeping his alcohol consumption to a minimum and it was starting to take its toll on his body. He wasn’t in withdrawals yet but the headaches were frequent and there was a semi-permanent tremor in his hands.

After ten minutes of sullen silence on his part, Chaff tossed him a knowing look. “You’re worried about Trinket.”

“She fell in a pool of blood that belonged to a woman we had _just _spent ten minutes with.” he muttered. “What do you think?”

“I think you shouldn’t care that much about your escort.” his friend pointed out with a shrug. Haymitch opened his mouth but Chaff lifted his stump in a peace offering. “I also think she’s hot and I get the urge to keep a hot woman alive. Plus, she ain’t the worst of them.” Eleven’s victor hesitated, clearly debating what to say next and clucked his tongue once with a sigh. “Brutus’s been drunk since Valeria’s murder. Hasn’t sobered up once yet. The girl’s at her wits’ end.”

He didn’t care much about Enobaria’s feelings but he couldn’t deny a tinge of sympathy for her former mentor.

“Funny, yeah?” Haymitch snorted. “We spend our time complaining about them. Strange to realize we actually like them.”

Chaff shook his head just as a reverberating voice asked the audience to please take their seat and hush. “We don’t _like_ them. We’re _used _to them. _Hell_, I hate Summercket but I’ve been working with her eight years now. Long enough to know how she likes her coffee or how bitchy she gets when she’s upset and she doesn’t wanna say. You can’t work with someone that long and not get to know them, buddy, you can’t just _not_ care when they get killed. Doesn’t mean we’re friends or some _shit_, just shows we’re still humans.”

Caesar showed up on stage preventing Haymitch from answering and he pondered what Chaff had just said while the show started. He barely listened to the new escort from One assuring the host she was _so happy _ at the opportunity she had been given despite everything, that it was the dream and what not.

He _was _pretty sure he actually _liked _Trinket and that they were friends regardless of what his friend had to say. Sure, they fought and infuriated each other on a daily basis but the thought of her getting killed, of her _disappearing _from his life…

The kissing, if anything, had confirmed what he had always known: sex with her would be great. And if there hadn’t been so many annoying Peacekeepers around… He closed that train of thought quickly. He had enjoyed holding her while she slept a lot more than he had thought he would. It wasn’t his thing… Cuddling, watching a woman sleep, basking in the warm limp body next to him… The intimacy of the previous night felt a bit strange because it had come before… _anything else. _And intimacy, as a rule, made him uncomfortable. He couldn’t help but associate it with danger.

Except she already was in danger so…

“And now, a surprise!” Caesar announced on stage. “There has been a lot of speculating about who would replace poor Megan. Two seems to have the _worst_ luck so far…”

Haymitch remained uninterested up to the point the host announced the new escort and an elderly woman walked on stage like she owned it.

“Holy _shit_.” Chaff half-chortled, as incredulous as most of the victors around them were. “You think she knows she’s only here to play target?”

So _that_ was what this whole thing was about. Toss a bait that would be too good to resist: the possibility of murdering an escort _legend_.

Eloise Artemus had been an escort well before his time and he had never met her. She was on the sponsor side of things now and she looked down on Twelve, like most of the elite. He couldn’t deny she had class and dignity though. He had no doubt Effie would have qualified her of being a real lady.

After the bombshell of a seventy year-old woman returning to escorting, the other five minutes interviews seemed boring. All the escorts had their own public persona to stick to but they were all so obviously rehashing what they had been instructed to say (they trusted the Peacekeepers and they were proud to do their jobs) that Haymitch started to fidget and gave in to the temptation of sneaking a couple of mouthfuls of whiskey. Chaff borrowed the flask more than once, stifling yawns against his good hand.

“Seeder got to sit this one out, you know.” his friend complained. “She’s out there trying to get sponsors. Looks like the kids got excused too.”

Haymitch couldn’t spot Finnick or Jo anywhere and the reminder that the Games were still in session was sharp. Viola had a point when she said nobody cared about the Games that year. Kids were slaughtering each other for the Capitol’s entertaining and the Capitol wasn’t even watching.

Eleven’s escort clearly wasn’t happy when she walked on stage and her response to Caesar were clipped and irritated at best. Perhaps a bit on the too sarcastic side of things if Caesar’s tense smile was to be believed.

Effie’s entrance quickly smoothed things up, though. She was charming and bubbly enough to get a laugh or two out of the audience. If she had been a tribute, Haymitch would have had _some _hope of snatching sponsors for that alone. He would never have hoped she could win though. He _had _insisted until she accepted the knife he had strapped to her thigh – and, yeah, maybe he hadn’t needed to strap the knife himself but _fuck_ if he was going to pass an opportunity to brush his fingers so high on her leg – but he knew very well she would never know how to use it properly. The blade was a last resort only, something that might even out the chances.

Once the escorts were all seated, the real sport began.

“Vile-o-la’s in a mood.” Chaff warned under his breath. “She’s gonna shred them all. Just watch.”

Caesar, unaware of the danger of being shredded, smiled at the twelve women sitting in comfortable chairs lined up in front of him. “Well, ladies… You all probably know the press had dubbed this killer _the Ghost_. Do you…” Viola let out a loud disdainful snort. The host did look a little wary when he turned toward Eleven’s escort. “I see you have an opinion on that nickname, Viola.”

“Not very original, is it?” Viola deadpanned. “_The Ghost_.”

“Personally I would have gone with _the Coward_.” Eloise approved with a small smile in Eleven’s escort’s direction.

“Yeah…” Chaff muttered under his breath. “Cause sending kids to kill each other in an arena is _very_ brave.”

Haymitch rubbed his eyes and hoped Effie would have the cleverness to stay out of this. Eloise’s job was clearly to make herself a big target, there must have been some sort of trap in place…

Everyone laughed at her good joke.

“I take it you are _not_ worried about his attacking you, then, Eloise?” Caesar asked, still chuckling.

“Why would I be scared? Thanks to him I not only have the unexpected treat of returning to a job I loved _but _I also get to watch young men in uniforms all day long.” Two’s former escort replied with a grin. “And let me tell you in confidence, Caesar, that some of them are _very_ fit.” More laughter. “So, no, I am not worried at all. I have all confidence my Peacekeepers will stop him. There _is_ justice in the Capitol and this Ghost is about to feel its wrath. You cannot go around attacking defenseless women with impunity.”

“But you _can _absolutely go around attacking defenseless kids.” Haymitch muttered to Chaff who snorted.

“Come on…” Eleven’s victor mocked with a serious face. “There _is _justice in the Capitol.”

Haymitch shook his head and took another mouthful of whiskey. Maybe they should make a drinking game out of it. Take a shot every time a Capitol said something hypocritical.

“I would _not_ say we are defenseless.” Effie cut in, a touch hesitant to intervene but clearly irritated.

“Ah, _shit_…” Haymitch sighed. “She _can’t_ keep her mouth shut.”

“We are ladies, not fighters…” Eloise dismissed. “That is all I meant.”

“Yes, I understand.” Twelve’s escort nodded with a bright smile, her tone all polite. “Nevertheless, _defenseless_ implies some sort of responsibility on our part, doesn’t it? That we are not strong enough to defend ourselves? That we are some sort of damsels in distress who need Peacekeepers to save us?”

Haymitch slumped a little in his seat, annoyed that she couldn’t just keep a low profile for one. If he knew one thing about Effie Trinket it was that for all her claims to be the perfect lady, she _hated_ people assuming she wasn’t able to take care of herself. She was independent and proud to be.

“Aren’t we?” Viola scoffed. “_Don’t_ we?”

Effie pursed her lips and tossed her rival a disdainful look that made a good portion of the audience sit straighter in anticipation. Viola Summercket and Effie Trinket’s spats were as legendary as their feud and were a _guarantee _of a good time, which was probably why Caesar was happy to stand aside for now. “Perhaps _you_ do. I do not intend to lie down and take it.”

Viola’s smile was sharp and mocking. “How peculiar. That is not the tale your ex-boyfriends sing.”

Laughter erupted in the audience and Effie huffed, jutting her chin higher and ignoring Caesar half-hearted _“ladies”. _

“How vulgar.” She sniffed. “Then again, nobody ever expected _class _from you.”

“Are you saying you intend to fight the Ghost if he comes for you, Effie?” Caesar cut in, there was some nervousness in his voice, a nervousness that was echoed on Eloise Artemus’ face.

“Come on, sweetheart, don’t be stupid…” Haymitch muttered. 

“I am saying a lady is _not_ defenseless.” Effie argued as if this was all a theoretical debate about what being a lady should be. She slowly crossed her legs, it looked natural but Haymitch just _knew _it was calculated. And, surely enough, the soft fabric of her dress parted and the knife sheath was just barely visible.

There were some excited whispers in the audience.

“Been busy?” Chaff mocked.

Haymitch rolled his eyes.

“You are quite the _femme_ _fatale_!” Caesar laughed. “Is it a new accessory on your leg?”

“An assurance that I do not have to rely _only _on my Peacekeepers, no matter how certain I am that they_ will _protect me.” Effie replied with a sweet smile. “Being a lady does not mean being _defenseless _or _powerless_ but I am not surprised Viola does not know that. After all…” She lowered her voice to a theatrical whisper. “… No one has _ever_ accused her of being one.”

More laughter. Some people chanted Effie’s name and she made a show of batting away the attention with her hand, that sweet delighted smile still on her lips.

It didn’t escape Haymitch’s notice that she hadn’t included Eloise Artemus in her little speech about ladies, probably because she knew better than antagonizing a potential big sponsor. Or someone who, according to rumors, had the ear of President Snow.

“You ever wonder _how _these two are _still _our escorts when they’re always the ones making the show?” Chaff asked in a bored tone of voice. “How come they never got promoted?”

He shrugged. “Cause One and Two always work together and they’d never manage it?”

“Well.” Viola huffed, never one to be out-staged. “I _do _apologize but not all of us are interested in taking _special_ lessons in weaponry with our victors. If that is what you call it, of course.”

“Here we go.” Haymitch grumbled. He had known it was coming. No way Viola would catch them having some downtime sitting on the floor and _not _cash on it publicly. It had been... What? Two years since the last time that particular brand of rumors had circulated?

“Oh, do I detect gossip?” Caesar asked, turning toward Effie.

Twelve’s escort didn’t bat an eyelash. “I have no idea what she means. I _do_ attend self-defense classes but certainly _not_ with Haymitch.”

“So he is not the one who gave you this knife?” the host probed, lifting his eyebrows. “Knives are our favorite Quell victor’s trademark weapons if you remember.”

That last part was addressed to the audience who was at the edge of his seat.

“Hear that? I’m their favorite now.” he scoffed for Chaff’s benefit, resolutely ignoring the way everyone around them was straining their neck to get a good look at him.

“I fail to see what it has to do with the topic at hand.” Effie remarked.

“Let me explain it to you.” Viola retorted. “The topic at hand is you playing strip-poker with your victor in the early hours of morning.”

“Strip-poker?” Chaff let out a low whistle. “And you didn’t invite me? I’m hurt, buddy. I’m really hurt.”

“There was no stripping involved, as you are _well_ aware.” Effie hissed.

“All I am aware of is that I walked in on you without a wig, make-up or proper attire on, making beady eyes at a drunk.” Viola deadpanned.

“You have _guts_ calling _my _victor a drunk when yours is equally as partial to his drinks and is a known womanizer on top of it.” Twelve’s escort growled.

“She ain’t holding back her punches, is she?” Chaff chuckled, more amused than vexed. 

“_Where_ is Haymitch?” Caesar hastily asked, turning toward the audience, probably because he could sense he was losing control of his own show. A huge spotlight started roaming over the audience, finally settling on Haymitch whose face was now on every big screens around the studio – and, he figured, all over the city. “There he is!” Haymitch greeted them with a lazy wave of his hand. “So… Tell us the truth, Haymitch. Are you or are you not playing strip-poker with Effie at undue hours?”

He shrugged, a smirk on his lips. “Can tell you one thing, Caesar… She’s a hustler.” He lifted both hands in a defensive gesture. “Make of that what you will.”

The audience went wild. The cameras went back to Effie who was pursing her lips, her head tilted to the side in obvious disapproval.

Mostly, it was all for show. That was how they played the game.

“We did play poker.” Effie admitted, before Caesar could spin his answer around. “_Regular _poker, mind you. I am afraid I was not in the best frame of mind last night and Haymitch was kind enough to keep me company and distract me.”

A hush fell on the studio. It was the closest any escort had gotten to actually _talk _about their murdered colleagues or confess their real feelings on the subject.

“I would say that it is entirely understandable.” Caesar winced with over-the-top sympathy. “According to witnesses, you were _quite_ distraught yesterday afternoon.”

“Finding a friend with her throat gaping open _is _quite distressing, Caesar.” Effie retorted.

It was Haymitch’s turn to wince. Even Chaff shifted uncomfortably on his seat.

“If she takes that too far…” Eleven’s victor whispered.

Haymitch didn’t need the warning. He knew. It was a sensitive time and he wasn’t sure how well the Gamemakers would take her little act. She had some leeway because Crane liked her but…

“I can only imagine.” Caesar offered, his voice more sincere than previously. He worked closely with escorts all year long, after all. He must have been affected by their deaths too.

“Yes.” she answered somberly. A second later, she was forcing a smile that lacked her usual cheerfulness but, Haymitch mused, was lukewarm on purpose: to let the audience see she was struggling but willing to see life on the bright side. And, surely enough, people erupted into applause, calling her name, desperate to make her feel better… And, as if on cue, she brightened up, discretely dabbed at her cheek with a handkerchief – he wasn’t sure where she had been keeping it in that dress – making such a heart wrenching scene that people could _not _love her. She waited until Caesar had managed to get the show back under control to speak again, all magnanimous. “I do _not_ blame Viola for her _uncharitable_ _jealous_ thoughts, though. Haymitch has been _nothing _but supportive through this whole ordeal unlike her own victor who has publicly stated several times that he would _hold _her for the Ghost if he ever came for her…”

The spotlight came back, stopping on Chaff this time. Eleven’s victor, far from being deterred, stood up and took several short bows – to the audience’s delight.

“I am certainly not jealous of…” Viola started but she had lost her momentum, Caesar had found more interesting than her petty attempts at making troubles.

“Is Haymitch playing bodyguard for you, Effie?” the host cut Eleven’s escort off. “He _does _seem a little more invested in attending official events this year. And dare I say it… He does look a little less partial to his drinks.”

Effie hesitated a moment, her eyes darting toward the audience, toward _him_. At least it gave the impression of it. He doubted she could see much with all the spotlights around the stage that must have been blinding her. Emotions flickered on her face but her features were soon schooled into her usual cheerful mask. “You would have to ask him but I suspect he feels that he is the only one allowed to kill me.”

The joke warranted some laughter and Caesar used that transition to move back to Eloise. No matter how much she tried though, Two’s former escort couldn’t top Effie’s intervention. None of the other escorts could.

When the show ended, Haymitch tried to go directly backstage but was directed to the regular exit by overzealous staff members. He understood why when he was immediately swarmed by journalists and cameras who all wanted him to comment on what Effie had said.

_Was he really invested in Effie’s safety? Did he care enough about his escort to get involved? Did he know he was the first victor who had officially offered support to their escort? Didn’t he fear the Ghost would upgrade from killing escorts to killing victors? _

“Like Trinket said.” he cut them all off, and they all fell silent, eager for his every word. “The only one who gets to kill her is me. You make of that what you want.”

He tried to make his way out after that, ignoring the calls of his name and the questions that were tossed at his back but it was like trying to escape an angry swarm of bees.

It took him far too long to escape.

And he couldn’t help but feel anxious at the knowledge Effie was somewhere with only Albert-the-Peacekeeper and his enamored eyes for sole protection. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Gamemakers went to all the troubles of making a perfect bait and there Effie went and threw a wrench in the plan XD What do you think is going to happen next? Is Eloise going to be next or did Effie make herself a target with all her "I'm not helpless and my victor's on my side" talk? What is Haymitch's denial of the day? Will Chaff let Viola forget about her dismal performance? What do you think! Let me know!


	10. Chapter 10

It was a struggle not to let her smile fell as soon as the proverbial curtain did.

Spotlights died, staff rushed to make the stage ready for the next show – interviews related to the Games this time around – cameramen abandoned their posts talking loud about taking a break, the audience hurried out discussing what had just happened… A few escorts darted toward the back of the studio, Peacekeepers almost fought to invade the stage quicker and get to their respective charge…

It was overwhelming and Effie took a deep breath through her nose, held it for a second and then slowly let it out. _Eyes bright, chin up, smile on_, she reminded herself.

“Let’s hope these self-defense classes _are _as good as you say.” Viola taunted, clearly not happy about not having gotten the last word. “I might try to kill you one day.”

“It was a naïve view, dear.” Eloise remarked, walking away from Caesar. “Quite charming, I am sure. But naïve.”

Effie had never liked being criticized. If she had wished for unwarranted advices, she would have simply answered her mother’s calls – something she had avoided doing _a lot _since Valeria’s murder. Somehow, she knew her mother would _order_ her to come home, lock her in her old bedroom for her own safety and hire the best private security the Capitol could offer. She might not see eye to eye with her parents on a lot of subjects but she had no doubt her father would spend his whole fortune turning their house into a vault to keep her alive.

She may or may not have considered that very option a few times in the last couple of months. 

“And yet I am all they will talk about today.” she hummed with a bright smile. She let the insult implicit. That Eloise’s return _should _have made the headlines but would now probably be topped by her. She didn’t let herself think about what it might mean if Viola was right and they _had _brought Eloise back as bait.

The Capitol was a vipers nest and _that _was something she knew how to handle.

Serial killer or not, it was not going to be said Effie Trinket was upstaged by an old woman and _Viola Summercket_.

“For your sake, I hope they will not be talking about your tragic death.” Eloise retorted, giving a sharp nod with her chin. As if trained – and perhaps they were, her husband was rich enough to provide private security – her Peacekeepers escort spanned into formation around her.

Effie could only huff before she felt a hand cradle her elbow.

She _flinched_.

“Effie.” Albert said quietly. She relaxed a little, but not by much. Viola was being whisked away by her own security detail. They were some of the last ones to get out. “It’s chaos at the elevators. I don’t want you stuck in a crowd, we’re going to go the ones on the other side of the floor, alright?”

The question was more for form than a request but she nodded all the same, trusting him to do the right thing. He had, after all, never failed thus far. Crossing the floor seemed a bit dangerous to her because it would involve switching elevators at least once but perhaps it was less so than waiting in the middle of a crowd full of overzealous Peacekeepers and hysterical escorts who would all kick each other with hypocritical smile to get to their own floor quicker.

“Haymitch?” she asked, glancing behind him, hoping her victor would show up. There were little chances of that, though. He would probably have to use the main door and answer the numerous questions the press certainly had. Rumors about their relationship would flare again. She just hoped he would manage to put the fire out before it really took. 

“I don’t know.” Albert shook his head. “I’m sure he’ll meet us at the penthouse. Come on.”

She let herself be tugged toward the other exit, the one nobody was using. Albert remained right next to her, one hand on her elbow, the other gripping his gun, his eyes darting left and right. There were two other Peacekeepers with them, as had been the norm since this thing had started, one walked ahead and the other behind them.

The corridors were deserted. The officers’ heavy boots echoed with their every footstep. Her heart was beating a staccato in her chest.

To distract herself, she tried to figure out if she knew them or not. Aside for Albert, she had seen so many Peacekeepers relay themselves for her protection… They were hard to recognize though. When they had their helmets on, when they were in full uniform, the only way to identify Peacekeepers was to hear them speak. She couldn’t even guess at their gender most of the time.

Her head was running over every possible dramatic scenario. She couldn’t help but think that it was _exactly _the kind of location the killer liked to trap his victims in. She walked quicker and the three Peacekeepers all altered their paces to match her.

She was so convinced they were going to get attacked that it was almost a shock to see the metal elevator doors glinting in the distance. It was even more of a shock to _reach _them without any trouble.

“So far so good.” Albert told her, sounding calm and reassuring enough that she relaxed. He let go of her elbow only long enough to push the call button. If possible, the two other Peacekeepers seemed even more on high alert for the few seconds it took the elevator to chime and the doors to open. They slipped inside without incident and she could practically _feel _Albert’s tension fade. “We’ll get off on the third floor and take the elevators next to the mentor lounge.” he informed her.

She nodded to show she understood, knowing her input wasn’t actually needed nor wanted. It would have been quicker to go up to the fifth floor and switch elevators there but the fifth floor would be mostly empty and she knew that it was exactly what Albert wanted to avoid. Even with the interviews having just concluded, the mentor lounge was _never _empty. There would be some victors who weren’t officially acting as mentors and were in the Capitol to either _entertain _the elite or for their own reasons and there were always a couple of victors whose District had already lost.

“What did you think of the interviews?” she asked. She had always felt the need to fill silence with chit-chat. She hated silence.

Albert’s lips twitched with amusement. “I’d have liked it better if you’d kept a low profile like the other escorts but keeping a low profile isn’t really you, is it?”

She lifted an inquisitive eyebrow. “Is that a compliment or an insult?”

“A compliment.” the Peacekeeper assured her, his face softening. “Always.”

There was a little too much fervor in his voice. Effie licked her lips and glanced at the floor numbers that were flashing by. “Do you believe they are really using Eloise as a trap?”

“That’s above my pay grade.” he admitted. “But it seems likely.”

“Do you think she knows?” she whispered. She _must_ have though. One didn’t built the reputation Eloise had by being dimwitted. She must have figured it out even if nobody had openly told her. And yet if _President Snow _had truly placed a personal phone call… There was no way she wasn’t in on the plot.

Eloise was braver than Effie would be. No matter how hard she looked at it, she couldn’t help but think she would have refused any offer of that kind.

He sighed. “I just hope it will work.” They were nearing the third floor and Albert tensed again. “Okay. You know the drill, stay close, be ready to run if I tell you to.”

She would have felt far safer if he hadn’t felt the need to repeat those instructions every time.

The doors opened and off they were again. She kept a brisk pace and a smile on her lips because that floor, while not packed, was populated. They met the occasional sponsor and a couple of victors on their way to the other elevators. She smiled and greeted everyone by name and generally tried to act as if three scary Peacekeepers weren’t surrounding her.

They did reach the next elevator without any incident and, this time, she _truly _allowed herself to relax. The elevator would take them straight to the penthouse and, once there, she didn’t intend to leave Twelve’s floor again unless she couldn’t help it.

“Do you know… I could _kill_ for a glass of wine and a bath.” she hummed.

Predictably, Albert flashed her an apologetic wince. “I’m okay with you having wine as long as you don’t drink the bottle but I don’t like the idea of a bath.”

She sighed. “Of course not.”

She hadn’t been allowed a bath in forever. Like her cigarettes and her consumption of alcohol, bathes fell under the things her bodyguard had to approve.

“You would be alone in the bathroom too long.” Albert explained, sounding sorry but not regretful. “I don’t like it.”

“I understand.” she promised.

She knew the resentment was plain in her voice but she couldn’t help it. She was nearing the end of her rope. She didn’t even bother asking if he thought she might sneak to the roof for another cigarette. The only reason he had humored her the previous night was because she had been _that _close to a nervous breakdown. She had found her footing again and there would be no more reckless outings for something as trivial as a smoke.

“I’m sorry.” he said.

She believed him and it was the only reason she forced herself to smile. It didn’t reach her eyes and he wasn’t fooled.

Finally, the doors opened on the penthouse and she stepped out of the elevator, pausing in the hallway without having to be told, used by now to that particular routine.

“Check the floor.” he instructed the shortest of the Peacekeepers. Perhaps a woman. Effie really couldn’t tell. “You, stay with Miss Trinket while I check the living-room.”

It would take a few minutes to ascertain the living-room was safe, she knew from experience, so she used that time reapplying lipstick, her eyes sometimes darting to the Peacekeeper standing right behind her in the mirror.

She was about to ask him his name – to be polite mostly – when Albert reappeared on the living-room’s threshold. “It’s clear, you can come in now.” He nodded at the Peacekeeper. “Check the roof.”

Effie ducked past him and into the living-room, a bit disappointed that Haymitch hadn’t beaten them back. _Assuming_ he would come straight back. She was certain Chaff would try to tempt him with a glass of something alcoholic…

She needed to _stop _assuming things about Haymitch. _Right then_. They had kissed. It didn’t mean… And, knowing him, he would probably have things to say about the interviews and what she had claimed. She had put him on the spot. Well… _Viola _had put him on the spot but she _had _publicly declared he was concerned about her safety.

She headed to the liquor cart, perused what was on display and finally poured herself a glass of white wine that was waiting in a bucket full of ice. The Avoxes knew her tastes. She walked to the bay windows and looked at the city that spreads at the Training Center’s feet.

She was, at least, allowed that much freedom now.

Before Tanya… Before their tributes had died in the arena she had been forbidden to go near any window in fear she would be struck down by an arrow.

Living in fear was no way to live one’s life…

And, yes, she mused as she took a long sip of wine, she could see the irony, given what she did for a living.

“Effie…” Albert hesitated.

“Yes, I know.” she hummed, taking a sip. “I should pace myself.”

_Getting drunk_ was high on his list of _don’t if you want us to keep you alive_.

“No.” The Peacekeeper made a face. “I mean, _yes_, you _should_ but… I just wanted to say…” She turned around to look at him, a small frown on her face. His tone was hesitant at best, embarrassed at worst. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I was out of line. With the comments about…”

About how Haymitch hadn’t done his best to help Twelve’s tributes. The comments that had enraged her so badly she had hardly said a word to him all day.

He let the sentence trail off, probably waiting for her to put him out of his misery. She simply pursed her lips and studied him, waiting for the apology that shouldn’t have been directed at her but at Haymitch.

It was true Haymitch didn’t always go the distance but it was his way of keeping himself sane. When he saw something in one of the children, he _did _do anything he could. She had seen it before. But it crushed him when they got killed. When he didn’t see any potential, he simply did the strict minimum and hoped the tributes’ death would be quick for their sake.

It wasn’t an approach Effie had ever learned to embrace but she knew and understood his reasons.

When it became clear she wouldn’t say anything, Albert cleared his throat. “Look… I’m sorry I’ve been… We were doing fine together until…”

_Until Haymitch came and rocked the boat. _

“We did what was necessary to make this experience as bearable as possible.” she cut him off. It sounded harsh to her own ears and she forced herself to soften a little, aware that one of the other two Peacekeepers had just come back to give their report and that nothing they would say now would be private – not that anything ever was private in the penthouse. “I am grateful for everything you did for me, Albert, everything _you are doing _for me but you must understand…”

“I understand.” he said before she could finish. It was probably for the best because she wasn’t sure _how _she could have finished that sentence. It didn’t escape her notice that he was ignoring the other Peacekeeper just like she was, like he often did since he was the senior officer and they were technically under his command. “I _do_. But it’s not… It’s not _just_ jealousy on my part, Effie. Abernathy may think he knows better than me but…”

She had been ignoring the Peacekeeper but she wasn’t blind and she jerked back with a gasp when he suddenly stabbed Albert in the neck.

For a second, they all remain frozen there.

She met Albert’s wide eyes just as he lifted his hand to the syringe that was protuberating from his neck, over the thick collar of his uniform, his lips formed one word that he half gurgled _“Run”_. The other Peacekeeper kicked his knee and Albert collapsed and stayed down.

Effie stood there, her hand clutching her glass of wine.

She couldn’t even guess at a face through the visor of the helmet. She couldn’t guess at anything. She was too shocked to move, too shocked to scream, too shocked to do anything but hold her drink.

At least until the Ghost calmly pulled a garrote out of his pocket.

The sight of that string was like an electroshock.

“Stay back!” She tossed the glass at his head but he easily ducked and started moving toward her at a leisure pace. She stepped back but soon felt the cold window behind her. “I’m warning you…” Warning him of _what_? What had happened to the last Peacekeeper? Had the Ghost sedated him like he had Albert or… “_Help!” _she screamed just in case. “_Help!” _

The Ghost was still advancing on her as if he had all the time in the world and no worry of getting caught. Why would he? He had never been before. He was probably laughing beneath his helmet because there surely was an elaborate trap on Two’s floor and, there he was, safe as he pleased, about to murder his next victim.

She ran.

_Tried_ to.

It was a desperate move and she knew it wouldn’t work but what else was there to do?

She tried to dash past him but he deftly grabbed her arm. She screamed with reckless abandon and hit him with her fists, kicked him with her feet… She hurt her hands on the solid uniform but he never even _flinched_.

The backslap he gave her almost knocked her out.

Suddenly she was on the floor without any recollection of falling, her cheek smarting, her heart about to explode… She remembered the knife and reached for it, fumbled with the pink fabric that was caught in the middle… The Ghost loomed over her, outstretched his arms to grab her…

She kicked him hard in the stomach. Her stiletto broke on impact but it was worth it to see him stumble two steps back. She managed to free the knife, scrambled back on her butt, tried to get to her feet…

It was laughable how easily he tore the knife from her hand.

A twist of her wrist and she was dropping it, yelping in pain.

And then he was pinning her down, a knee on her chest, the thick lace around her neck and he was pulling, _pulling_…

She fought. Of course she did. The reaction was instinctive if nothing else. She tried to scratch his helmet, tried to kick, tried to…

_An arrow would have hurt less_…

She couldn’t breathe.

The realization didn’t come immediately. It was only when the lace really started digging into her neck, crushing her windpipe, when her mouth gaped open in a stupid reflex to gasp air, when her limbs started twisting with uncontrollable spasms that she realized. _She_ _couldn’t_ _breathe_. She was going to _die_.

A part of her couldn’t believe it.

A part of her was completely detached from the violence of the situation.

A part of her…

Her sight was blurry but she saw the huge shadow silently looming over the Ghost.

Something crashed. 

Air rushed in her lungs and she gulped it in. It hurt. It hurt _so_ _much_. Breathing should _never_ hurt _that_ much. Big fat tears were rolling down her cheeks and she couldn’t swallow no matter how hard she tried. That made breathing even harder.

Eventually her head cleared enough to spot Albert, unsteady on his feet, fighting the Ghost. He had a gun. She didn’t understand why he wasn’t shooting. At least until she remembered the drug in his system. Perhaps he didn’t trust himself to aim straight. Perhaps.

“Effie, get out of here!” Albert ordered, his voice sounded sluggish but she couldn’t tell which one of them was responsible for that. Her ears were thrumming as if she was underwater.

He had her knife.

Albert had her knife.

She didn’t pause to think about that or even entertain any thought that she might possibly help – _save_ – him in return. Their only chance was for her to find help.

So she crawled.

She crawled toward the living-room’s threshold, listening hard to the sounds of fighting behind her, dragging herself forward by pure will alone… Something was wrong with her throat. Something was _very, very wrong_. It felt swollen and it burned and every breath was _agony_… Crying didn’t help. Her whole body was _aching_.

She heard the cry of pain, heard someone scream behind her but she didn’t dare look back. She was so close to the door… So close… She could see the elevator…

She could see her salvation…

A foot kicked her in the small of her back, pinned her down…

Then the garrote was back around her neck, forcing her head back, digging painfully in her throat…

She was going to die.

_She was going to die. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this, ladies and gentlemen, is what I call: a cliffhanger! 
> 
> Feedback keeps an author happy! A happy author keeps writing!


	11. Chapter 11

By the time Haymitch managed to extricate himself from the swarm of journalists, sponsors and the occasional victor who all wanted a word with him, the studio’s backstage area was empty of escorts and Peacekeepers alike, although the usual frenzy of staff members running around had still to abate.

He pressed the elevator’s call button, not really surprised when it took several minutes before the doors finally opened. He figured elevators must be swamped right about then. He pushed the penthouse floor button and leaned against the wall, settling for a long wait. Staying at the top of the Training Center’s building had a lot of benefits but a quick trip up wasn’t one of them.

In the safety of the small cabin, he unbuttoned his jacket and his waistcoat, intending to take them off first thing. Then he would get himself a glass. _Then _he would sit Effie down and asked her what the _fuck_ she thought she had been playing at.

It wasn’t that he was mad at her for being put on the spot, he decided, not really. He was used to that and she hadn’t said anything he hadn’t more or less owned up in front of his fellow victors before. It was just that…

He had a bad feeling in his guts.

They had wanted to make a show of Eloise Artemus to attract the killer and, instead, Effie had made a spectacle of herself: the only escort with a victor publicly willing to say he would protect her – _try_ to, at least… It didn’t bode well.

The elevator passed Seven’s floor and Haymitch rubbed his face, wondering when his life had become so complicated. Well… He knew _when _his life had taken a turn. Hard not to with the reminder permanently scarred on his stomach. But when had it taken _another_ turn lately? On Reaping Day? When she had showed up with what felt like a hundred Peacekeepers in her wake and he had thought she had been in trouble? Or more recently when the flirting had taken a decisive step in the _taking action _direction? Was it when he had kissed her? The first or second time? And what was he _even_ doing kissing her when he knew very well nothing good could come out of it?

He was giving himself a headache.

Eleven’s floor flashed past and Haymitch sighed in relief. A quiet afternoon in, that was what he needed. A quiet afternoon in. Hopefully, he would manage to avoid the live feed from the arena that would, no doubt, plague every screen in the penthouse… Hopefully he would manage to ignore the fact that kids were dying thousands of miles away for the pleasure of people who were _bored _by the whole thing. Hopefully, he would…

The elevator chimed and the doors opened, he strolled out at a lazy pace, already starting to shrug his jacket off…

He froze.

_The sounds_.

He registered those first because they were terrible. Ragged breaths and choked gasps.

And then _he saw_.

Effie, first. Effie on her stomach, her head forced back by the thick lace that dug in her throat, her eyes rolled back into her head, her mouth opened in a hopeless quest for air, the make-up running down her cheeks, the long bloody scratches on her skin where she had tried to get rid of the lace, the spasms in her limbs that meant she was close to…

And then the Peacekeeper. Because it _was_ a Peacekeeper – or, at least, someone in a Peacekeeper uniform – completely anonymous. Completely inconspicuous. His knee firmly planted on her back as he strangled her to death.

And behind them. Behind them Albert-the-Peacekeeper in a pool of his own blood, his eyes open but glazed. Dead or soon to be.

It all registered in a second but that second felt endless.

He wasn’t even aware of charging with an enraged shout. All he knew was that one moment he had been shrugging his jacket off, the next he had slipped his knife from the back of his belt and he was running straight at the Ghost.

The man dropped Effie, crouched to better fight… Haymitch barreled into him, forcefully tackled him off her… He stabbed him. Repeatedly and without mercy. He stabbed where he knew the kill would be quick: neck, angled between two ribs to reach the heart, the vulnerable part of the belly…

He stabbed and stabbed and the blade never made it through the thick uniform. Of course not. Those uniforms were _designed_ to resist any sort of attack. A gun might have made some damage but his little hunting knife, no matter how faithfully it had served him in his arena, was no match for it.

The Peacekeeper hit him over the head and Haymitch fell away from him and onto his back. They wrestled for the knife. Haymitch was strong but the man was stronger, _fitter. _ Probably younger and less inclined to a drink too. He could see where this was going and, surely enough, he lost the battle for the knife. He let it go. The Ghost hadn’t been expecting it and, thus, lost his balance for a precious second.

The victor kicked him twice with his knee. The second hit caught him in the groin, tearing a grunt out of him. Haymitch took advantage of his momentary incapacitated state and hit him again with his elbow, aiming for the neck. The uniform probably absorbed most of the blow but it was enough for him to be able to roll away and back to his feet, his arm throbbing all the way to his shoulder from the strength of the impact.

Effie had curled up in a tight ball and he rushed to her. She was alive. He could hear her struggle to keep breathing, he could hear the choking sounds every time she sucked in a raspy breath.

He lugged her up in his arms and made a run for the elevator. There was no way he was winning a fist fight against a guy in a bulletproof uniform. He needed to get her out of there. He needed backup.

He slammed his fist against the call button, adjusted his slipping grip on Effie… _Fuck_, the noises she was making… It wasn’t good. It wasn’t good at all. He thought she was crying on top of it all and that wasn’t helping her breathe. He wasn’t sure she _could _breathe. What if her windpipes were crushed? What she couldn’t…

He felt the bite of the blade just as the doors opened. The pain was blinding for a second and then gone. The survivor in him kicked in, the very same instinct that had guided his scared skinny ass when he had been a teenager too stubborn to die. He tossed Effie in the elevator without really thinking it through. The landing knocked the air out of her and she _really _didn’t need that but he didn’t linger on that problem yet because…

He needed to _get out of there_.

He turned around, took the punch that made him stumble back. Blood flooded out of his nose and into his mouth, the taste too familiar… It was a blessing in disguise though because it brought him inside the elevator and he lost no time jamming the closing doors button.

Of course the Ghost immediately grabbed the doors, tried to keep them open. Haymitch kicked him in the stomach with all the strength he had left.

The man in a Peacekeeper uniform fell back, the doors started closing again… Gloved fingers slipped through at the very last second but Haymitch mercilessly brought his fists upon them until they had no choice but to let go.

And then, his mind reeling, his body aching, he did the only thing he could think to do, he slammed the Eleven’s floor button. It was the closest and the safest. People would have his back there. People would keep him safe.

But first…

He dropped to his knees when the elevator started humming its slow descent, gathered Effie against his chest, pushed the loose wig to the side so he could see her face. She was flushed with the effort it took her to suck in small raspy breaths, she was crying ugly tears, she coughed every time she breathed out, triggering some heaving…

“Okay.” he said. There was a tang to his voice. His nose was still bleeding everywhere. “You’re okay. Breathe. Sweetheart, you’re okay.”

Her throat was black and blue, the skin raw and bloody where the lace had sliced in. He brushed his fingers against it and, when she flinched, simply hauled her up higher against him. He held her tight, tighter than was advisable probably.

The doors opened on Eleven’s floor and he lifted her up, staggered in… There was a Peacekeeper on station right in front of him. The man stood straighter, took a step forward… Haymitch reacted on instinct and took a step back, almost growling…

“Who’s it?” Chaff’s familiar voice called from the living-room.

Haymitch headed straight there, keeping an eye on the Peacekeeper who was following him. Effie was heavier than he had thought or it was his strength waning. He aimed for the couch, ignoring the eyes staring at him, ignoring their gaping… There was another Peacekeeper in there, not too far from Summercket.

There were questions, he knew. From the Peacekeepers. From his friends. He heard them distantly, _distortedly_. Like he was under water.

“You’re okay.” he repeated gently even though Effie looked _anything_ but. She was twitching, crying in earnest, still so clearly struggling to _breathe_…

“Buddy?” Chaff said, a little carefully to his ears, slowly laying his good hand on his shoulder.

“She was attacked.” he mumbled, glancing up at his friend and then at Viola Summercket and Seeder who were both still staring. His gaze ended up on the two bodyguards who were standing at attention, ready to snap into action. “Guy dressed like a Peacekeeper. Couldn’t stop him. You need…”

“I will call down for security and a medic team.” Viola declared, snapping out of her shock. Her Peacekeepers moved with her.

“She’s going to choke if she keeps crying.” Seeder warned, kneeling down next to the couch. “Miss Trinket? _Effie_? I know you had a scare but you need to calm down.” It didn’t work. Either Effie was too far gone to understand her or she simply _couldn’t _do what was asked. Seeder shook her head and turned to Haymitch.“Talk to her. I’ll get ice for her throat.”

He wasn’t sure what good ice would do. Her throat was a painting of blue and yellow hues already.

“Sweetheart…” he rasped out, slowly sitting down on the edge of the couch next to her hip. “Sweetheart, I need you to breathe with me.” Her hand flew to her throat, her eyes boring into his, wide and terrified. “I know it’s…” His sentence ended in a hiss when something was pressed against his back. He glared at Chaff over his shoulder. “The _fuck_?”

Chaff didn’t stop pressing whatever it was against his back. “You’ve got a knife jutting out of your back, Haymitch.”

He said it in a matter of fact sort of way, as if it was something that happened often enough, but Haymitch’s eyebrows shot up all the same. “What?”

Suddenly he realized that his sleeve was damp and that the blood wasn’t _all_ coming from his nose. It probably explained why he felt so light-headed too. Adrenaline must be preventing him from feeling pain, which meant he was bound to go into shock sooner rather than later.

He did remember, suddenly, that he had felt the stab when he had reached the elevator…

“Looks like a flesh wound.” Chaff offered, taking a closer look.

Seeder peeked at it on her way back with the ice and nodded. “Don’t take it out. It’s better to let the doctors do it.”

Haymitch decided he would deal with his own injuries once he was sure he hadn’t sustained them for nothing. He focused back on Effie who now had dishtowel full of ice cubes pressed to her throat. She had closed her eyes but her mouth remained opened, she was panting and choking in turn.

“Calm down.” he demanded more than he coaxed this time. “You’re alright now, sweetheart. _Calm down_. Small breaths. In and out.”

“Help is on its way.” Summercket announced and then pursed her lips in a disgusted pout. “_Must _you put blood everywhere, Haymitch?”

“Shut up.” Chaff spat back with fake good humor, patting Haymitch’s good shoulder with his stump. “Wanna explain what happened?”

He summed it up as best as he could.

“Trust you to make a fuss.” Summercket snorted, directing her sneer at Effie. “You _did _want the spotlight today, didn’t you?” Effie had managed to calm down a little but not by much. She sent the other escort a mild glare. “Yes, yes… If looks could kill… Be careful, you are flashing Chaff and he might get ideas. He is not the best at keeping his hand to himself.”

Effie immediately tugged the sleeve of her dress up with shaky fingers and Chaff who might or might not have been sneaking looks at her chest, rolled his eyes. “It’s there and it’s pretty. I’m just a man, love.”

“What you are is a _pig_.” Eleven’s escort retorted.

“The woman is half dead.” Seeder agreed, clucking her tongue. “Get some manners.”

Haymitch was too tired to process any of it. He sat there and held Effie’s hand and watched them bicker. A part of him wondered if they were trying to distract them. Because as bitchy as Viola was – and she _always _was – the way she talked to Effie right then was almost _concerned_. It would take a lot to frighten Summercket into worrying for his escort.

Maybe it was the blood loss, he mused. Maybe he was seeing things.

When the cavalry spilled out on Eleven’s floor, it was almost a relief. He had never been so glad to see a tide of white uniforms. Because it meant he could let his guard down and be reasonably sure Effie would survive it.

“Chaff?” he muttered, his voice tight and rough for some reason when a medic started probing at the wound on his back.

“Right here, buddy.” Chaff immediately promised.

“You make sure she’s safe, alright?” he mumbled.

And then he relinquished the tiny grasp he had on consciousness and slipped into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It wasn't the classiest rescue but rescued her he did! Well... For now... The Ghost is still running... Will Chaff keep Effie safe while Haymitch recovers? Will he finally fingure out when his life took another turn? Is ANYONE safe yet? Let me know your thoughts! And a Happy Halloween!


	12. Chapter 12

Haymitch refused to admit he had passed out.

His wound was, as the doctor who tended to him in the Games Clinic soon confirmed, more painful than serious. Blood loss, going on an empty stomach save for a few mouthfuls of liquor and the adrenaline surge coming down had, however, been contributing factors to his fainting spell. It might make sense but Haymitch still grumbled about it.

He grumbled about a lot of things and would have grumbled even more if he hadn’t had a clear view of Effie, curled up on the cot right next to the one he was sitting on. 

The Games Clinic was as familiar to him as the mentor lounge or the penthouse – he was enough of a regular visitor that he could name most doctors and nurses. The emergency area was a wide open space with several beds where they treated patients. There _were _private rooms too if a condition warranted a longer stay or if the problem was embarrassing enough to earn privacy.

They had offered a room to Effie while he had still been out but she had apparently refused to leave him – although how she had conveyed that in the state she had been in when he had lost consciousness he wasn’t sure. Right then, she was as alright as could be given the ordeal she had just gone through. She was curled up on her side, facing him, her eyelids were drooping but every time he thought she was finally going to give in to the exhaustion she must have been feeling, she opened her eyes and tracked the doctor’s every move.

Her attention was prompting Haymitch to endure the man’s tender care with more stoicism than he otherwise would have. The doctor had pulled the blade out after making sure it hadn’t touched anything vital and, when requested, had handed the knife back to him before moving on to the stitching.

He hated stitches.

In a few hours, they would start to itch and he wouldn’t even be able to indulge in the good stuff to make it worthwhile. There was no way he was taking any drug or hard liquor until that killer was in a cell – or dead, _preferably _dead.

He watched Effie watch the doctor, studied her face, her throat… He would never ceased to be amazed by Capitol technology – there were a lot of things he hated about the city, _a lot, _but the medical miracles he had seen there… He did hate that the Capitol didn’t _share _that technology with the Districts though. They had injected her with something, had smeared some sort of cream on her throat…

The swelling had decreased enough that she wasn’t in danger of choking every second now. She still looked like hell. Her reddish blond hair was showing under her blue wig, the bottom part of her pink dress was torn and her throat still looked badly bruised.

There were Peacekeepers in the Clinic, hidden beneath helmets and Haymitch’s eyes darted to them every time one of them so much as _twitched_. He couldn’t help himself, couldn’t bring himself to _relax_ despite the recurrent requests from the doctor to do just that. He knew none of them were the Ghost in disguise – heights and bulks weren’t right – but it wasn’t enough to make him stop worrying.

Effie must have been just as tensed, just as hyperaware of their surroundings, because when Crane strolled in, framed by his own set of bodyguards, she immediately sat up, her hands flying to her hair. She did her best to adjust the wig but it was a hopeless endeavor as far as Haymitch could tell. Blond hair with soft coppery hues poked out behind her ears no matter what she tried. 

“Look who got down from his castle to visit us pour peasants…” he snorted.

Effie tossed him a tired chiding look but didn’t even tried to speak.

Crane pursed his lips in annoyance but elected to ignore him and turned to his escort, outstretching a hand that she grabbed as soon as he was within range. Sincere emotion flashed on the Head Gamemaker’s face before it was schooled away into a more neutral expression.

Was there _any _guy out there who wasn’t interested in his escort in some way?

They were old friends, that was what she always claimed. Old friends or old lovers? He couldn’t help but wonder. He had been wondering for a couple of years.

“_Thank goodness_ you are safe!” Crane exclaimed. Haymitch couldn’t say for certain but he was pretty sure she squeezed his hand. She certainly forced a small smile. “We owe that to you, Haymitch, as I understand it. President Snow asked me to convey his _most_ _sincere_ gratitude.”

He opened his mouth to tell him President Snow could go _fuck_ _himself_ with _his most sincere gratitude_ but ended up wisely closing it again when Effie’s warning glare drilled a hole in his head. He swallowed his bitterness and tried not to flinch when the doctor patted his good shoulder, muttering an “all done”. On a polite but explicit look from Crane, the man made himself scarce, leaving Twelve’s team alone with the Head Gamemaker and a handful of Peacekeepers in the main part of the Clinic.

Not entirely comfortable being bare-chested in front of the Head Gamemaker – in part because Crane was discreetly checking him out and in part because he hated his scars to be on display – he reached for the shirt bundled next to him. He renounced the idea of putting it on when he realized just how drenched and sticky with blood it was.

He would have to deal with having that kind of conversation half-naked, which didn’t put him in a better mood.

“He got away.” Haymitch started, because that was a given. By the time Summercket had reached someone… Even assuming one of her own Peacekeepers went down to investigate… The Ghost would have been long gone.

“Unfortunately.” Crane acknowledged with a slow disappointed nod. “It is still the closest we have ever come from catching him. You and Effie are our only eye witnesses.”

The Head Gamemaker gestured behind him and one of the Peacekeepers – one of the few who didn’t have a helmet on, which in his experience meant an officer – stepped forward. It was a woman with dark hair cropped close to her face, angular features, olive skin and sharp black eyes. Pretty, Haymitch mused and immediately glanced at Effie, feeling a weird sort of guilt for even thinking that. Which made no sense. No sense _whatsoever_.

“This is Head Peacekeeper Lina Fari.” the Capitol introduced. “She is in charge of the investigation. We need to know everything you can tell us.”

“Sure.” Haymitch deadpanned. “He was dressed like a Peacekeeper. That about sums it up.”

“Mr Abernathy.” Fari almost gritted her teeth. “We have been after that man for more than three months. I _sincerely _believe you can do more than just: _he was dressed like a Peacekeeper_.”

Haymitch made a face, not really in a mood to be cooperative.

“I don’t… know… it was… a man…” Effie rasped out, her voice rough and distorted. She coughed immediately after and Haymitch watched her with concern until she got a hold on it. They all did, really.

“Yeah…” He let the word trail off a little as he thought about it. “_Yeah_. Can’t really swear one hundred percent it was a man either.”

“Why?” Fari asked. She wasn’t being argumentative, he realized, just inquisitive. She needed as much information as she could get. Professional, then. Even if she had been doing a butchered job at catching the culprit so far.

“The uniform.” Haymitch answered and then looked at Effie who nodded in agreement. “They’re pretty much unisex and he… She? Let’s go with _he, _alright? He had a helmet.”

Fari nodded as if she thought it made sense.

“We found Effie’s assigned Peacekeepers sedated, one seems to have been under for longer than the other so it is possible the Ghost actually followed her since before the interviews.” Crane explained. “They were uninjured.”

Effie nervously played with the bangles on her wrist.

“Albert?” she croaked.

“Albert?” the Head Gamemaker repeated, clearly confused.

“Albert Stanton.” Fari supplied. “Her main bodyguard.”

“Ah.” Crane’s face lit up with understanding but not much else. He looked at the Head Peacekeeper, waiting for her to answer Effie’s question.

“He is in intensive care.” Fari declared. “We don’t know more at this point. I will talk to him as soon as he’s stable if he pulls through. He might have noticed more…”

“I’ve got more.” Haymitch cut in, frowning a little as he tried to recall what had happened in details. “He knew how to fight. Not just… Not instinctive fighting, not brawling… He’s got training.”

“That’s helpful.” Fari encouraged. “What else? _Anything_ you noticed. Even something that doesn’t look that important to you could help.”

He gave her an approximate estimate of height and build but remarked, and she agreed, that the uniform might play on that and that they might not be totally accurate.

“He was… at ease…” Effie forced the words out and winced, immediately covering her mangled throat with her hand. Still, she soldiered on. “With… the uniform… He… filled it.”

“He must be very good at disguises to have escaped us so long.” Crane sighed, stepping closer to Effie and laying a protective hand on her shoulder. “You should not talk anymore. It is alright, we can wait a few hours for your full report. I had a conversation with your doctor on the phone earlier and he _did _say you needed to rest until the medicine can work its magic…”

The Head Gamemaker’s tone had crossed from professional and a little distant to actually friendly and worried.

Haymitch wasn’t sure he liked it.

He was certain he didn’t like the way she leaned a little into the man.

“Maybe it’s not.” he said before he could stop himself, Effie’s words taking roots in his mind. “A disguise, I mean. Maybe it’s _not_.”

“There are Peacekeepers everywhere.” Fari commented, a touch of contained excitement in her voice because she was picking up on what he was hinting at. “It’s the perfect disguise to go in and out though. Maybe he simply grabbed an uniform. It might just be opportunistic.”

“Yeah. And maybe it’s not.” he argued. “Nobody’s gonna ask a Peacekeeper what’s their business. You come and go pretty much freely. You’ve got access to the Training Center’s blueprints, right?” When Fari nodded he continued. “Gives you all the back entrances, the hidden corridors… There are so many Peacekeepers around, nobody’s gonna notice one more. _Nobody’_s gonna notice. _Fuck_, it’s the perfect plan when you want to walk around killing people…”

Effie suddenly reached out to tap his arm and when he looked at her she voiced _Avox._

“Yeah. _Yeah_.” He nodded, tempering his excitement when he realized she had a point. “The Avoxes. Nobody notices them either. They never use the main doors, the elevators. They’ve got their own ways onto the floors… Nobody’d probably notice if they borrowed a uniform…”

“Five seconds ago it was a Peacekeeper, now it is an Avox?” Crane scoffed. “You are not a detective, Haymitch. You…”

“It _could_ be.” Fari cut in. “An Avox was a theory we explored but it didn’t give any results. We tightened controls and supervision. We never entertained the idea it could be one of us though…”

“Takes hatred.” Haymitch shrugged. “Whoever it is, they’ve got a bone to pick with escorts. Maybe somebody who lost a kid in the Games.”

“Peacekeepers are celibate for that _very_ reason.” Crane pointed out.

“We’re celibate.” Fari confirmed, her tone policed but the mocking edge underneath obvious. “It doesn’t mean we don’t have brothers and sisters, nephews, nieces. _Family_.” She sighed and clucked her tongue. “It’s an idea. If the Ghost had a uniform… It’s an avenue worth exploring.”

“Explains how he got to Della in Four too.” Haymitch insisted. “Twelve was _crowded_ with Peacekeepers on Reaping Day… If Four was the same… Easy way for the killer to slip in and out. How else is anyone from the Capitol gonna get to a District and back?”

“_Victors_ come and go between Districts and the city.” Crane argued, sounding more than a little anxious.

It amused Haymitch a bit. It probably was a disturbing idea to him that one of his Peacekeepers might be the murderer, that there was a wolf in sheep clothings, that the people he trusted to protect him while he slept might just slit his throat after all…

“Only two victors from Four in the Capitol this year…” he pointed out. “Mags can’t hurt a kitten those days…”

Although that was debatable, she might look frail but she more than one trick up her sleeve… He didn’t feel like sharing that tiny bit of news though.

“And what about Finnick Odair?” Crane retorted in Fari’s direction, ignoring Effie’s tired but firm huff. “He _was_ in the city _right_ before the Reaping. He could…”

“Build wasn’t right for Finnick.” Haymitch interrupted, shaking his head. “And the kid ain’t crazy. Whoever you’re looking for, they’ve _snapped_. They don’t have anything or anyone to lose. Finnick does.” He paused and then shrugged. “Besides, the kid’d never hurt _me_. Or Effie, for that matter. He’s half in love with her.”

“Odair doesn’t fit the psychological profile.” Fari agreed before turning to Crane more fully, more or less dismissing Haymitch and Effie. “Sir, if you don’t need me anymore I’d like to go back to headquarters and review the files of the Peacekeepers who were sent to Four on Reaping Day.”

“Yes, of course.” The Head Gamemaker waved her off like she was a servant – which, Haymitch figured, she _was_ in the grand scheme of things – and the woman quickly left. Crane, unfortunately, _didn’t_. “Effie, I do _not_ want you to worry. I will assign you another bodyguard and…”

“No.” Effie cut him off, shaking her head. She winced right afterwards and reached for Haymitch’s arm. _“…mitch.” _

She rumbled it and his name wasn’t quite clear but the determined expression – if he had been in a less charitable mood, he would have called it _stubborn – _on her face and the hand on his arm were self-explanatory.

Crane looked disoriented for a second before he collected himself. “Darling, be _serious_.”

Darling. _Darling_.

“She _is_ serious.” Haymitch growled. _Darling_. They were friends, sure. Friends, _his ass_. “What if the psycho sneaks back in?”

Effie aggressively nodded and then stopped, obviously in pain.

The Head Gamemaker looked like he was sucking on a very bitter lemon. He studied the escort and then the victor. Crane was a lot of things but, despite the appearances – and the beard – he was no fool. He might not be comfortable thinking a Peacekeeper was the Ghost but it didn’t mean he’d bury his head in the sand either.

In the end, he sighed and stared at Haymitch. “Are you certain you are up to the task? This is _important_, Haymitch, and you have a reputation for…”

“She trusts me.” he spat. “And I ain’t gonna be alone.”

“Of course not.” Crane retorted. “I might be willing to let you assure her personal protection but I am _not_ letting the penthouse without guards. I will handpick the Peacekeepers myself. Model officers who…”

“We _ain’t_ going back to the penthouse.” Haymitch refused. Not yet, at least. He could still picture the pool of blood in the living-room where Albert-the-Peacekeeper had fallen and he doubted anyone had bothered having it cleaned up with everything else going on. Besides, he wasn’t sure Effie would want to go back immediately. She had almost died in there. He wasn’t sure she was up to going back to living there right away. “We’re gonna stay on Eleven’s floor until you catch him.”

He glanced at her to check if she had any objection but she looked like she could _barely _stop herself from lying back down. If she cared about having to share a floor with her greatest rival, it didn’t show.

“Eleven’s…” Crane started to repeat and then frowned. “_Why_ would you…”

“Cause Chaff and Seeder are there and I trust them more than I trust any of your guards.” He shrugged. “You want to play it smart, you do that for all your escorts. Gather them on different floors and let victors handle the protecting.”

“The Games are still on.” the Head Gamemaker argued.

“That still leaves plenty of victors to go around and keep an eye on a couple of floors.” Haymitch pointed out.

“Assuming they’re willing.” Crane snorted.

“Some will.” Haymitch guaranteed. “Ask for volunteers. Give us weapons.”

The Capitol was silent a long moment, thinking it over maybe. When he spoke, he sounded tense. “I would need to consult President Snow on that matter. I can, however, authorize _you_ to settle on Eleven’s floor for the time being, assuming Chaff and Seeder do not object.”

Fat chances of _that_.

“Thank you.” Effie whispered, her voice raspy and hoarse.

“Do not thank me yet.” Crane scoffed. “I am not certain I am doing you a favor.” He tossed Haymitch a glare. “Do _not_ let her get hurt again.”

After the Head Gamemaker had gone with his army of Peacekeepers and they had been left alone – something that had so rarely happened in the last couple of weeks – Effie lied back down on her side. He wanted to say something, something _significant_ because so many important things had shot through his head when he had seen her lying there, that guy _killing _her… But he didn’t have the words and, in the end, the only thing he could do was stare at her, drink her in, wondering about and _dreading_ the stirring in his heart…

Her eyes remained on him until she fell asleep, even when her eyelids started fluttering closed.

It seemed that as long as he was there, she felt safe.

He just hoped he wasn’t going to _fuck_ that up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is Haymith's denial of the day today? I didn't faint? Crane is totally NOT into Effie? I do not care for her at all? XD What did you think of this chapter? Are you happy Albert isn't dead yet? Is the Ghost a real Peacekeeper or just posing as one? Will Haymitch be a good bodyguard or a disaster? Is his plan a good one? I want to know everything!


	13. Chapter 13

Effie woke up in an unfamiliar room.

The soft glow of a bedside lamp shed light on a somewhat recognizable amount of furniture. The style was similar to her bedroom in the penthouse but the window was on the wrong side and the mattress felt too soft. It took a few minutes for her to properly emerge from her slumber and for the memories of the previous day to come back to her.

She breathed in deep, testing the water where her throat was concerned. It felt sore and still a little swollen, painful to the touch, but the meds and the creams had done their job and she could breathe easily enough.

“You know… It’s twice now we sleep in the same bed and nothing happens.” Haymitch taunted. His voice was a rough rumble like it sometimes was late at night when they came back from parties. He was sitting next to her, his back supported by pillows, an open book propped on his bent legs. He must have borrowed a long-sleeved shirt from Chaff because the white cotton fabric was stretched across his torso and it had been cut around the elbow on his left side. “I’m starting to get offended.”

She chuckled but it was a bit painful and her smile turned into a wince. His grey eyes tracked her every move when she slowly pushed herself up a little.

She barely remembered coming back to Eleven’s floor the previous evening. The meds and drugs had made her space out quite a bit. She remembered leaning against Haymitch’s side a lot. She remembered Chaff meeting them in front of the elevator, Viola not too far behind, looking less than pleased about something… Probably the lack of Peacekeepers hanging around. She remembered Haymitch steering her toward one of the bedrooms and she vaguely remembered Viola lending her a pair of pajamas with an acerbic remark… After that, she couldn’t remember anything. She had a vague memory of listening to the rumble of Haymitch and Chaff’s voices discussing the whole thing on the room’s threshold…

She must have fallen asleep.

She also must have put the pajamas on before she had done so because she was wearing silky shorts and a matching top in an atrocious shade of fuchsia she would never have picked for herself. Even without the awful color, there was no doubt it belonged to Viola, she truly didn’t fill the top and the shorts were a bit loose around her hips – that last part pleased her an unhealthy amount.

“Don’t freak out.” Haymitch said. He sounded too amused for the warning to be serious. “Took your wig off. It was half hanging loose anyway.”

Her hand flew to her head and, true to his words, only found her natural curly hair. He had done more than just take the wig off, he had taken the pins that had kept it in a bun too. And she hadn’t stirred through the whole thing.

She was too tired to care or worry about her hair, which probably said a lot.

“What time is it?” she asked. She was pleased to hear her voice didn’t sound as atrocious as it had in the Clinic.

“Close to five a.m.” He stretched his arms over his head and then grunted in pain. He immediately dropped them and reached for his injured shoulder with his opposite hand. “_Shit_.”

She wanted to ask him how bad it was, if he was in pain… The knowledge that the only reason he had been hurt in the first place was because of her… The words remained stuck in her throat.

He caught her looking, probably caught the guilt on her face too.

“As much as I’d like to milk the hero thing, it ain’t that bad, sweetheart.” he promised, reaching out with his good arm to squeeze her wrist. “Couple of stitches. Don’t fret.”

It was more than a couple of stitches. She had watched the doctor work. There were at least five stitches and there were also various bruises on his body, his nose looked red and a bit swollen but fortunately it wasn’t broken. It could have been worse, she knew. So _easily_ worse. He could have _died_. He could have ended up in intensive care like Albert – and she didn’t even let herself _touch _the Albert subject because even though they had been at odds for the last few days, the man had been diligent about keeping her alive for _months_ and the idea that he might die because of her…

She shifted to face him, sitting cross-legged. It was habits to make sure her back was road straight – and a good thing too because that top wouldn’t have hidden much if she had slouched. He slowly closed the book and tossed it on the bedside table, next to an open bottle of liquor.

“Didn’t drink much.” he said before she could make a remark. “Just enough to get rid of the shakes. Ain’t gonna risk being wasted right now.” He stopped, hesitated a second and then stared hard at the _terribly _boring brown comforter – Effie had insisted on _blue _comforters in the penthouse but clearly she and Viola didn’t have the same fashion sense. “Ain’t gonna risk _you_.”

There was a lot of unvoiced things packed up in that statement.

“You did not have to do that.” she whispered, both to spare her throat and because what she had to say was the sort of things you didn’t _shout_. “You should not have charged him. You should have…”

“What?” he scoffed. “Turn around? Run away ? Let him kill you?” His lips stretched into a smirk but he wasn’t really amused, she could tell. “After you’ve told the world I was gonna keep you alive? Think of my reputation, sweetheart.”

The sarcasm was deserved and she flinched, looked down at the hands she had automatically folded on her lap. “I meant to apologize for that.”

“Don’t.” he said after a second. “Wasn’t gonna let him kill you anyway, told you I don’t want to have to train a new escort. Besides… I don’t let women I’ve just kissed the night before get killed if I can help it…”

She dared to look up, found his grey eyes on her, so intense… She wasn’t sure how to approach that subject. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to do that right then. The kiss, the cuddling, the impossible _tension_…

She wasn’t her confident self right then and not only because of the missing wig, the absence of make-up on her face or the loose pajamas. He wasn’t looking at her like he minded any of that, quite the contrary. But there were things weighting on her mind. Things…

He brushed his knuckles against her throat, avoiding the worst area, let it trail down her collarbone…

“Still hurts?” he asked. “I’ve got the stuff they gave you at the Clinic over there.” He nodded at a dresser on the other side of the room, on which she spotted the telltale paper bag. “There’s more cream, I think. And painkillers if you want them.”

Albert would never have allowed her to take painkillers. He had wanted her sharp at any given time in case the Ghost attacked.

And, as it turned out, he had been right – terribly optimistic to think it would make a difference but right.

She chased her bodyguard from her mind. She didn’t remember much but she remembered enough. She had glimpsed him lying in a pool of blood over Haymitch’s shoulder when he had hauled her to the elevator.

She had thought they would die. The three of them. She had thought they would all die and the two men because of _her_.

“I do not know if I can come back next year.” she confessed.

Was it the roughness of her voice that made the words that much ominous or were they always going to be that difficult to utter?

She had thought about it a couple of times over the years, when it had become obvious she would never get promoted because she was a little too good at controlling Twelve’s uncontrollable victor. She had thought about it a lot more when she had started being forced to rely on sleeping pills to avoid the guilt and the dead tributes waiting for her in her nightmares.

She had thought about it but she had never truly _entertained _the idea because, as Viola had said, she wasn’t a quitter and there were still too many advantages to being an escort, enough of them that she could simply pretend the guilt wasn’t there, that she could _bury _it under expensive clothes and a perfectly done make-up, deafen it with the roar of the crowd chanting her name.

And also, perhaps, because Twelve would never get assigned someone as efficient as she was and Haymitch had been close to _drowning_ before she had come on board. It didn’t matter if he wanted to acknowledge it or not, she knew he relied on her like victors from other Districts relied on their fellow mentors. They were a _team_ and, in her opinion, you did not let your teammate down.

“We could ask for another floor if you don’t wanna go back to the penthouse.” He shrugged, avoiding her eyes, pretending not to understand when she knew he had. “We’re gonna lose the roof but other than that, the teams’ apartments are pretty standard…”

“Haymitch…” She licked her lips, averted her eyes too. There was an overwhelming sense of sadness welling inside her. Perhaps that was the real reason she had never seriously thought about quitting. Because she had always known quitting would feel exactly like _that_, not as if she was giving up a job but as if she was giving _him _up.

“Told you.” he insisted, sounding both urgent and afraid. “Don’t want to have to break a new escort in. They’re all stupid little chicks. Too young for me.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “Nobody said you had to kiss _them_.”

“Not what I mean.” he argued.

Their eyes met each other and her smile slowly faded.

She knew what he meant, of course. She was five years younger than him and five years, in the grand scheme of things, were nothing. He might have claimed she was ridiculous and too obsessed with new trends, but the older they got, the more they both felt remote from younger people. The younger victors, the younger escorts… They made them feel _old_. They had joked about it more than once.

Effie, of course, refused to acknowledge her age and claimed she was still barely out of youth but, when push came to shove and the generational drift showed, she was on his side of the cliff. She understood how difficult it would be to have to deal with someone barely out of their teenage years on top of having to coach tributes.

“What he did to me…” she started.

“Won’t let him touch you again.” he cut her off. This time, when he reached for her throat, it was less hesitant. She couldn’t help the flinch, the way her body tensed… But when he simply laid his palm against the side of her neck, she let herself relaxed. His thumb carefully stroke along the uneven dent the string had left in her flesh, his gaze studying the wound with sharp attention. “I’d have killed him, you know. If I had thought I had a chance… I’d have done it. But that uniform… It’s _fucking_ thick. I wanted to get you out, _away_…” His eyes darted up, found hers, _held _hers. “I should have killed that _fucker_.”

“He tried to strangle me because Tanya was strangled.” she finished her thought, gently coiling her hand around his wrist. “And she was strangled because I picked her name. She died because of me. The tributes. They die because of _me_. That’s why he is targeting us, isn’t it? You said so yourself. He wants to kill us because we are _murderers_.”

Tears burned her eyes and she was slow in blinking them away.

He was even slower in answering, though his thumb never stopped stroking her neck. His face had closed a little.

“You want me to lie?” he asked and when she frowned, he simply shrugged. “I _can_ lie. I can tell you it’s not your fault and you’ve got nothing to blame yourself for.” She clenched her jaw, started to turn her head away but his hand moved to her chin, forced her to look at him. “Truth? Yeah, you’re a cog in the machine. You’ve got a share of the blame for these kids’ death like the rest of us.”

She had always known it, of course. Even back when she had still deluded herself into believing the Games were simply that. _Games_. She had known the moment they had lost their first tribute together that it had been her fault. She had known the moment that psychopath had wrapped the thick string around her throat. But to _hear _him say that so plainly…

“Doesn’t mean you’re a bad person.” he continued, holding her gaze. “If it wasn’t you, it’d be someone else. You’ve only got to look at how Gamemakers went about this… Made their point clear, yeah? Escorts are replaceable.” He sighed. “Doesn’t mean _you_’re a _bad_ person, sweetheart. You do what you can, you _help_. I swear it’s more than most.”

“But I still help kill them. Year after year.” she whispered, tugging on his arm so he would let go of her face. He did but he also laced their fingers together, refused to let her shake him off entirely.

“Same as people who watch. Same as people who can’t wait for the Games and ask for more slaughter and more _wow_ factors. Same as victors who keep the circle going by bending the knee. Same as the prep teams and the stylists who doll the tributes up. Same as Caesar for the interviews. Same as everyone who works for the _fucking_ Games…” He shrugged again, licked his lips. “I can tell you it’s not your fault. The same way you can tell me I ain’t a murderer.” he countered. “Doesn’t mean either of us is gonna believe it ‘cause it’s sure nice to hear but we both know better.”

She frowned, pursed her lips. She hated when he called himself that. She _hated _it. “You did not have a choice.”

“You’re telling me _you_ do?” He snorted. A little mocking. A little bitter. “Now that you know, that you _really _know… You _think_ you do? Come on… You’re smarter than that, Princess.”

No. Of course, not. They might let her resign because she was attacked if Seneca helped but they also might not _precisely _because of that. The Capitol had to win. The Capitol _always _won. And her resigning right after surviving that assault would look too much like losing.

Escorts didn’t simply _leave_ even on normal years. They were asked to step down for various reasons or, if they kicked too much of a fuss, they had tragic accidents.

The fact remained that she had willingly chosen this life. She had signed up for it. Haymitch hadn’t.

“You are not a killer.” she insisted.

His chuckles were bitter, cold. “I’m _very_ _much_ a killer, Effie. That’s what’s gonna keep you alive.” He shook his head, tugged on her hand a little. “We ain’t good people, you and I. We _ain’t_. We can tell each other otherwise until we’re blue in the face, we’re not stupid enough to fall for it. We ain’t good people. Doesn’t mean we have to be bad ones.”

She followed his tug, shifted so she could snuggle against his side. “Birds of a feather…”

He was warm and solid and _safe_. She closed her eyes and let herself breathe…

“You’re thirty-two.” he said quietly. “You’ve got three years left. Four maybe if you still look good enough then.” She huffed and started to move away – mostly for show – but he sneaked his arm around her and trapped her against him. “Come on, Princess… Fat chances of you becoming ugly all of a sudden.” He bumped his chin against the side of her head and she decided she could give him a pass on that very poor teasing remark. “Point is…” he continued. “It won’t be long before they ask you to retire anyway. You could stay.”

“You could ask.” she replied. It came down to that, didn’t it? He didn’t want her to leave.

And if he asked…

If he asked, she might remember why she hadn’t seriously thought about leaving in the first place.

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, some resisting perhaps, more teasing… What she got instead was his nose nuzzling down her cheek even as he pulled her upward, the tip of his fingers accidentally slipping under the waistband of the shorts that were too big. They remained curled over her hipbone, she didn’t think he had meant for that to happen, but the contact _burned _her.

She wanted his hands everywhere on her, she realized. She wanted her whole body to burn.

His nose was a little swollen from the fight and it must have been a little sensitive because for all that nuzzling he had just done, he was very careful not to bump it against hers when he tilted his head. She was ready for the kiss, she had seen it coming, and yet she found herself utterly unprepared for the way it made her feel.

Something _ached_ in her chest.

The kiss was so soft, so _careful_… If she had dared, she would have said _tender_ but it was Haymitch Abernathy and Haymitch Abernathy didn’t do _tender_. At least, she hadn’t thought so.

“Stay.” he demanded against her lips.

It wasn’t a request.

It wasn’t a plea.

It was an order.

“Why?” She breathed the word into his mouth.

There were a lot of reasons he could have given, a lot of arguments.

He kissed her again. _Harder_. His tongue slipped in her mouth, teased… “_Because_.” 

Three years of that.

That was what he was offering. 

Because once she would not be his escort anymore an affair would be more complicated. Impossible to hide. And neither of them wanted to go public for their own respective reasons – or maybe it was the same one: neither of them wanted to see the other used as a pawn against them.

So he was offering three years. Maybe four.

Against a lifetime of guilt.

She kissed him back.

Without a second thought.

She kissed him, rolled on her back, pulled him on top of her, slipped her hands under his shirt…

He was right.

She truly wasn’t a good person.

A good person wouldn’t have sold her soul for something so insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

But perhaps, she mused as he _so carefully _kissed down the bruised column of her throat, perhaps he was also right when he said it didn’t make them _bad_.

And something insignificant was sometimes more precious than all the diamonds, fame and furs in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weeeeeeeeeeell... They finally did the do XD And got to be philosophical on top of it! So what's the denial of the day do you think? And what's your opinion? Are they good people? Bad people? Something in between? Let me know!


	14. Chapter 14

Effie traced the edge of the bandage on Haymitch’s shoulder blade with the tip of her finger.

He was lying on his stomach next to her where he had rolled off her, asleep or very close to it. The bandage was a little bloody.

“I think you popped your stitches.” she hummed.

“One, I guess.” he mumbled, turning his head to look at her. She was lying on her side, still naked and not particularly caring. “Ain’t serious.”

“Nothing is ever serious with you until I am forced to drag you to the Games Clinic.” she retorted.

He snorted and, before she had time to figure out what was going on, she was pushed on her back and he was on top of her again. She didn’t mind it. Not at all.

She suspected, in fact, that she could get used to it very fast.

“At least, I’m not the one who half choked to death in the middle of sex.” he mocked, bowing his head to kiss her breasts. Her skin was still sensitive in the wake of the stubble burn he had left and her breath caught – which, admittedly, _hurt_.

“Oh, _hush_.” she chided, sounding far too hoarse. It had been embarrassing to find the rush of pleasure had left her unable to breathe properly and to be forced to cough for five minutes _not _to die in his bed after everything. Not the perfect first time she had imagined.

“Hey, worse ways to go…” He kept on taunting her, kissing his way down her body and slithering down the bed as he went. He nipped at the tender flesh of her stomach. “Death by orgasm.”

“Well, it was a particularly good orgasm.” she humored him.

“Right?” He chuckled against her lower belly, nipped at the smooth skin of her pubic bone… She wanted him to go lower, she parted her legs in invitation but he gently ran his hands against her thighs and pulled them closed. “As much as I’d like to explore _that_… I think we better wait a few days until your throat is better.”

She propped herself on her elbows, a pout on her lips. “A few days.”

“Don’t _really_ want to kill you with my impressive sex skills, you know.” He smirked and _barely _avoided the pillow she tried to hit him with. He grabbed it and snatched it from her hands, tossing it to the side, and covered her body with his again, careful not to crush her. He kissed her and that distracted her enough that she didn’t have time to comment about his so-called _impressive_ skills. “Besides… I locked the door but I’d like it better if I didn’t have to worry about someone crashing our little party.”

He didn’t specify if he meant his friends or the Ghost but the mention was enough to douse her arousal with a dash of reality and she tensed.

He kissed her again, a long peck, and then rolled off her for good this time. 

“I suppose breakfast might be served.” she sighed, straining her neck to catch sight of the clock on his side of the bed. It was early still but not early enough that they couldn’t expect some coffee and muffins.

She pondered the clothes problem while he made used of the bathroom. Haymitch didn’t look particularly troubled to have to wear his outfit from the previous day – and Chaff’s shirt since his was ripped and bloody – again, he was dressed in no time and fell back on the bed to get a few more minutes of rest. There was no way however that she would put her torn pink dress back on. And there was also no way that she would go out of that room in Viola’s fuchsia loose pajamas.

She ended up ferreting in the wardrobe and found clothes that had obviously been meant for Eleven’s female tribute. She had been sixteen, if Effie remembered right, and the outfits were far more practical than what she had ever worn but necessity must and she ended up slipping on skin tight black slacks and a powder blue tunic that would go well with the wig she carefully tried to salvage before placing back on her head. There was make-up in the bathroom – nothing fancy and certainly not of the quality she was used to but she managed to do her face to her satisfaction.

Haymitch startled awake when she finally declared herself ready and muttered about how she would fall in the mirror someday. It was a remark she had heard a lot over the years and she simply tossed him a brief glare.

They followed the noises to the living-room.

It didn’t escape her notice that Haymitch kept a hand at the small of her back and his grey eyes darting around one end of the corridor to the other. He wasn’t as relaxed as he had been in the locked bedroom either.

She hadn’t been on Eleven’s floor a lot – only a few times to either drop a drunk Chaff off or collect an equally drunk Haymitch – but she could see her victor had a point when he said floors were all pretty much standards. Aside for the view and the building’s orientation, the living-room was similar to the penthouse’s.

Of course, the penthouse didn’t have Chaff Mitchell and Brutus Gunn lounging on opposite ends of the couch, watching the Games on the flat screen mounted on the wall with grim faces, a spear and a sword propped against their respective sides of the couch as if it was perfectly normal for lethal weapons to casually lay around.

She could tell, at the small faltering in his steps, that Haymitch hadn’t expected Two’s victor’s presence.

“Ah, good of you to join us.” Chaff snorted, rubbing his face with his stump. He looked tired, as if he had spent the whole night up. “Nothing happened last night. If you’re up, I’m gonna go crash for a while.”

Watch duty, then.

Haymitch nodded his gratefulness and clapped his best friend’s shoulder when he passed by him. “Seeder’s still asleep? And where’s the _bitch_?”

“_Haymitch_.” Effie rebuked, clucking her tongue. “This is _no_ way to talk about our host.” She pursed her lips. “_Even _if she should have been here to make sure we had everything we needed. Only polite after all.”

Mirth danced on Chaff’s face but it was soon replaced by exhaustion. “They went down to try and find a sponsor. Boy got attacked by a mutt.” Eleven’s victor shook his head. “We’re out now. They should be back soon.”

The Games were still going on, Effie recalled a beat too late. She had almost forgotten. Her eyes darted to the screen, there wasn’t much to see. A jungle, a girl she thought belonged to Six trying to make her way through the thick foliage…

“Get some rest.” Haymitch said, clapping his shoulder again in a manly display that would have had Effie rolling her eyes if she hadn’t been aware of how serious the moment was. There was no “_sorry”_, no “_perhaps next year”_ like she would have offered another escort, no room for these platitudes.

Chaff nodded and left without another word only to double back and pick up his sword.

“Didn’t expect to see you here…” Haymitch finally addressed Brutus who still had to look away from the screen.

Twelve’s victor sounded a little confused.

So was Effie.

“Crane said gathering escorts and assigning them victors to protect them was your idea.” Brutus said, barely glancing away from the screen. “Sorry, we’ve still got a kid in the running, I’ve gotta watch.” he muttered as an apology, bringing his eyes back on the TV. “One and Three’s escorts are on our floor now. Artemus’ husband hired so much private security nothing is getting to them and they’ve got Gilbert from One with them. It must be the most well defended floor, it’d be stupid to go after them. And that guy is _anything_ but stupid.”

Effie cleared her throat in the resulting silence, _tried_ to at least since it evolved in a cough. “You think he will come after me again.”

Brutus _did_ take his eyes off the screen for more than a second, then. His expression was dark, darker than she had ever seen the usually jovial victor be. It reminded her of his Games. It was easy enough to forget how merciless and deadly Brutus Gunn had been in his own arena because the victor was universally considered by all escorts as one of the sweetest. Always polite, always joking about something or other, always respectful, always on his best behavior… He had his bad days, of course, and he could be ruthless when it came to making his tributes win… But that was true enough of _all_ victors. Brutus had never truly struck her as dangerous before. She rethought that right then. He _was _dangerous.

“I think you’re the only one who escaped and that’s gotta sting.” he answered, not unkindly but not particularly _caring _either. It was a simple fact. “I think he’s gonna try to finish what he started and I think, when he does, I’m gonna be here to kill the bastard off.” His gaze drifted to Haymitch. “You don’t mind, right?”

Twelve’s victor lifted both hands in the air as if to say it was no skin off his back who ended up killing the Ghost.

“They’ve broken out the weapons, then?” Haymitch asked, nodding at the spear.

Brutus, she recalled, had always been an expert with spears.

“Yeah.” Two’s victor nodded at a side table. “There’s a case for you over there.”

The case was lined in velvet inside and held three elegant hunting knives. Expensive too. If it pleased Haymitch, he didn’t let on but, she had noticed long ago, aside for his old knife he wasn’t into weapons. Still, he stashed two on his body and handed her the third one.

She lifted an eyebrow. “I think yesterday proved that I cannot handle a knife.”

“Humor me.” he deadpanned.

“We could train you.” Brutus offered. “I’m not too bad with them. Enobaria’s more into swords but she can hold her own with knives just as well.”

Two’s victor was still watching the Games and not really paying them attention so Effie didn’t feel bad when she exchanged a long puzzled look with Haymitch. Brutus’ presence, while not entirely not understandable given that he probably wished to avenge Valeria, was still a bit of a shock. Twelve and Two weren’t known to collaborate.

“Enobaria?” she hesitated.

“She’ll be up as soon as she can.” Brutus supplied. “Val was her friend too.”

Brutus was a big man and his pain seemed equally as big.

Effie wanted to offer her condolences but could not think of any tactful way to acknowledge what his escort used to be to him. He _was _married, after all.

“Training ain’t such a bad idea.” Haymitch contemplated, just as the elevator chimed.

“Absolutely _not_.” she retorted, planting her hands on her hips. “I am _not_ learning how to fight with a knife.”

“And why not?” Viola sneered, strolling into the room, her arms full of shopping bags. Her dark eyes assessed her outfit in one long look and her sneer deepened. “You certainly seem to be embracing the District look these days, why not fight like a District girl too?”

Effie pursed her lips, tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at her. “Must you be so unpleasant?”

“To you? Always.” Eleven’s escort deadpanned.

Seeder, who had made a more subdued entrance, exchanged greetings with everyone. She visibly paused when she spotted Brutus and his spear, looked at Haymitch with raised eyebrows, and when he shrugged, wisely refrained from making any comment.

“These are for you.” Viola declared, thrusting a handful of bags in Effie’s hand. “Consider them a _how lucky you did not die_ gift.”

One peek inside the bag revealed pastel fabrics and shoeboxes.

Effie grinned. “I _do_ hate you but you have your moments.”

“I could _hardly _have you walking around my floor naked.” Viola snorted. “I did not imagine you were going to snoop so low as to steal my dead tribute’s clothes.” Eleven’s escort wrinkled her nose. “Scrawny little thing, she was. How do you even _fit _in them?”

“Easily.” she retorted, innocently batting her eyelashes, letting the implied insult sink in. “I would not mind borrowing some proper make-up though. If you do not mind.”

“I bought some for you. Mine would not suit you.” Viola dismissed. She placed one of the bags – a drab black paper bag without a brand – next to Haymitch’s empty knives case. “I also bought you an early birthday present.”

“Oh, are we on birthday presents terms now?” she hummed.

Never mind the fact that her birthday was still a good month away.

“I expect an invitation to your party, naturally.” Viola replied. And she _would_, Effie suspected, her birthday parties were always _the _place to be.

She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting but it wasn’t to be presented with a pink handgun.

“The _fuck_?” Haymitch scoffed.

“Language.” Effie automatically chided.

“It is loaded, be careful with it.” Viola warned. “The salesman _assured _me it was simple enough to use. Point, uncock this little thing, aim, pull the trigger.”

“We got them in _several_ colors.” Seeder commented for Haymitch’s benefits, maybe because he was still gaping at the pink and silver gun in her hand.

“Accessories should always match your outfit, Seeder dear.” Eleven’s escort deadpanned.

There were indeed more guns in the bag.

“Can I see?” Brutus asked and Effie _startled _because she hadn’t heard him approach and he was standing far too close behind her. He took the gun from her hand and inspected it before handing it back with a nod of approval. “Seems good.”

“_Of course_ it is. Do I _ever_ buy anything that is not the finest?” Viola huffed. Then she stared at him and lifted a pointed eyebrow, her voice turning into a seductive purr. “Are you, by _any_ chance, on the market for a new escort? My talent are _wasted_ on Eleven.”

Brutus stared right back, his face blank.

Haymitch started laughing.

They all turned to look at him and he waved their worry and surprise off.

“Sorry…” He chuckled. “Sorry. It’s just… There’s a psychotic Peacekeeper on the run… I got stabbed… Effie got strangled… I’m worried about my _escort_… We’re talking about skewering that guy on a spear like it’s something we do every day… We’re discussing guns’ colors like they’re purses or wigs… And now Summercket is angling for a promotion even if the bodies of the two previous women aren’t cold yet…” He shook his head. “What does it say about my life I don’t even find any of it weird?”

There was a long silence.

“You should have a drink, you are _clearly_ in withdrawals if you find any of that funny.” Viola finally answered.

“Do not be mean.” Effie warned.

“Do not tell me what to do on my own floor.” Eleven’s escort retorted.

“Do not make _me_ lock you up in different rooms. Both of you.” Seeder warned, rolling her eyes. “We are stuck here together for now. Let’s try to keep it civil.”

“I’m hungry.” Haymitch cut in. “You’ve got food or what?”

“Haymitch!” Effie snapped. “How _rude_.”

Breakfast turned out to be an excellent idea though.

Even if the elevator chimed again when they had barely sat down and both Haymitch and Brutus reached for their weapons. Effie’s hand clenched the grip of her brand new pink gun and a look at Viola on the other side of the table revealed she was doing the same with her own yellow pistol.

Finnick stepped into the dining-room and immediately brought his hands – and the trident he was clutching – up in the air. “Only me, Mags and Alyssa.” Surely enough, Mags and their new escort – looking annoyingly _perfect _if a bit spooked – appeared behind him. “We thought we would wait this out with the lot of you.”

Four’s victor didn’t give any other form of explanation but the way his eyes lingered on Effie first and then on Haymitch was clear enough.

Haymitch, she could tell, didn’t need to hear more either. He shrugged. “The more, the merrier.”

There was a lump in her throat when Finnick cheerfully strode to the chair next to hers with his usual wolfish grin. She could only force a smile when he kissed her cheek as a hello – bold for a victor who didn’t belong to her team but not unprecedented either. His sea green eyes took in the state of her throat for a whole second before he looked away.

Seeder welcomed Mags with obvious relief, probably happy not to be the only senior around. Viola made hypocritical compliments to Four’s escort. Haymitch and Brutus both looked like they couldn’t really sit still…

When Finnick’s hand covered hers under the table, Effie squeezed his fingers in wordless thanks.

“He’s not getting anywhere near you again.” Finnick promised, low enough not to be heard over the other conversations.

It wasn’t low enough that it didn’t carry to Haymitch who was sitting on her other side though.

“Damn right, he isn’t.” he muttered. 

His hand landed on her thigh, warm and familiar.

Bracketed by her victors, Effie breathed out a sigh of relief.

And she let herself believe them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the battle lines are drawn... Or are they? Isn't Viola the most thoughtful host? Will Brutus catch the murderer? Will hayffie manage not to let everyone know they've done the do? Let me know all your thoughts!


	15. Chapter 15

“Quite a party you brought at my door.” Chaff snorted.

Haymitch glanced over his shoulder, waiting for his best friend to cross the sliding doors and join him on the balcony. It wasn’t the roof but it was alright when you wanted some air. And with everyone inside talking – _arguing _– he _needed_ some air.

Enobaria had joined them a little after breakfast and had immediately started fighting with Brutus and Finnick about what they should do for their tributes – who were still in an alliance for now, it seemed – the girl had decisive opinions that the other mentors didn’t share, mainly because they involved doing more than hiding on an upper floor; he couldn’t blame her, he was grateful for their presence but with tributes still in the running… Added to Summercket and Effie’s bickering and the fact that Mags and Seeder had wisely retreated to a corner of the living room while Four’s new escort watched the whole thing with wide eyes, Haymitch had soon developed an headache that he couldn’t nurse with whiskey for obvious reasons.

It was high time Chaff woke up from his nap to keep him company, really.

“Sorry.” he answered, even if he wasn’t entirely. It was the best, the _safest _option, he knew it in his guts.

His back turned to the room, he leaned against the see-through glass railing and stared at the city stretching below like a gigantic anthill.

“You popped a stitch.” Chaff casually remarked. He settled next to him, his own back turned to the city so he could see the circus taking place inside, the sword he had been carrying propped on his other side.

What he planned on doing with a sword, Haymitch didn’t ask. He would have thought Chaff would pick knives.

“It’s fine.” he muttered, rolling his injured shoulder once or twice, feeling the strain of the stitches on the wound. It hurt but not too much. He wasn’t going back to the Clinic for one popped stitch. Even if there was a dried spot of blood on his borrowed shirt. 

“Had a fun night?” Eleven’s victor mocked in a knowing tone. Haymitch spared him a short warning look but Chaff simply shrugged, the smirk on his lips. “Hey, don’t get me wrong, I hope you popped that stitch having fun. I hope you popped the pole out of her ass too.”

“Stop.” Haymitch growled.

When had Chaff _ever _known when to stop?

“Must say… First time I see her wearing pants…” Eleven’s victor continued in a conversational tone. “_Damn_ fine ass, she has.”

“You’re done?” he spat, standing a little straighter. Maybe a little more threatening.

Far from being intimidated, Chaff laughed. They stood there in silence for a while, both lost in their own contemplation. Or maybe they were the same one because when Eleven’s victor spoke again, his tone had turned a little serious around the edge. “You know, I’m really happy you got some last night but I feel I have to remind you…”

“I know.” he cut him off.

“Do you?” Chaff challenged. “Cause yesterday… Buddy, I thought you were gonna snap. She was hurt and you went into crazy mode.”

“She wasn’t _hurt_, she almost _got_ _killed_. In front of me.” he growled. “She’s my friend. Let it go.”

“She’s your friend.” Chaff repeated calmly, very much _not _letting it go. “I’m gonna say this once and I’m never saying it again if you don’t want me too but… The way you look at that woman, Haymitch, it ain’t _friendly_. And a part of me is happy for you, another part is very aware she’s an escort and this will only lead to troubles down the road.” His friend poked him in the side with his stump. “If they hadn’t picked up on it yet, with all the fuss yesterday…”

“I know.” he said again, rubbing his face. How could he _not _know when he had spent his whole life avoiding romantic entanglements? Not that it was romantic. It was just… He wanted to have sex with her. Again. Preferably without her half-choking to death in the middle of it and terrifying him that he had killed her. He wanted to have sex with her a lot more than just once. It was rare enough that it made him wary of his own feelings. But… “It’s not going to be a thing.”

They could keep it casual, couldn’t they? He was in the city a month a year. Two if he lingered after the Crowning. Three if he made it back for Victory Tour. A woman like Effie Trinket… What were the chances she would want something exclusive anyway? None. And he didn’t want it either. He didn’t want her to wait for him. He didn’t want her to…

He didn’t want for it to be bigger than what it had to be.

“It was a thing before it even became a thing.” Chaff sighed. “Look… I’m just saying… Be careful, yeah?”

“All the time you’ve known me, when haven’t I been careful?” he scoffed.

He planned. That was his thing. He _planned_. And maybe sometimes stuff went awry but mostly… He was a careful person when he cared to be.

“Every time a helpless pretty face got in danger of being hurt.” Chaff deadpanned. “Come on, let’s reenter the fray. Looks like Enobaria’s about to storm out. Can be fun.”

Haymitch let his friend coax him into going back inside right in time to listen to the end of Enobaria’s rant. That girl had quite a sneer.

“You two stay here and do what you want but I’m not giving up on my tribute for this.” Two’s victor spat, her eyes darting to Brutus. They were judgmental. When they turned them to Finnick, they were disgusted. “Don’t expect me to help _your _tribute, Odair. The kids might still be allied but that won’t last long.”

Neither Finnick nor Brutus moved from their seats. Finnick’s face was closed, his expression somber.

“I told you.” Finnick insisted. “Sponsors want _escorts _right now. That’s the only way they will close a deal. They want to be able to brag to their friends they talked to one. You won’t get anything by yourself so what’s the point?”

“Watch me.” Enobaria growled.

“If you need an escort, then an escort you shall have.” Summercket rose from her armchair.

Next to Haymitch, Chaff tensed a little. “Ain’t that I wouldn’t be happy if that oversized head of yours ended up bashed in, love, but you’re sure you want to risk it?”

“I am sure I do not want to sit here with all of you a minute longer.” Eleven’s escort retorted. “I am also sure I am overdue for a promotion.” She turned to Enobaria. “Well?”

Enobaria stared at her for a long time and then cracked a rare fangy smile. “You’ve got balls. I like that. Tell you what, if you help me and you survive the day, I’ll talk to Crane.”

That seemed to settle that.

Haymitch sank into the armchair Summercket had deserted, the one that coincidentally was right next to Effie’s. She was still wearing the tribute’s clothes even though she had redone the make-up more heavily than before and he had to admit she looked extremely good in them. She looked better naked with her reddish hair spread on the pillow under her head but…

He closed his hand into a fist to avoid the temptation of resting it on her thigh.

He wanted to touch her. His treacherous body had been inching toward her all day.

The same way he had caught himself leaning in to catch a whiff of her perfume.

One night and he was already close to addicted. Chaff was right, all in all, this was _madness_.

“There goes my promotion to Two.” She let out a falsely dejected sigh once Enobaria and Summercket had disappeared in the elevator.

“Say the word and you can have Four.” Finnick immediately flashed her his best seductive grin. Then, he seemed to remember the new escort who was sitting by herself like the outsider to their group she was. “No offense, Alyssa, but I’ve been after Effie for years.”

“Effie ain’t going to Four.” Haymitch said, because it was expected. He had lost count of how many versions of this particular conversation they had shared over the years. He understood the need for the familiar banter. Some normalcy would have gone a long way.

“Sure, she ain’t.” Chaff cut in, walking to the liquor cart to pour himself a drink. “I’m the one losing my escort.” He toasted Brutus. “Good luck with that by the way. So if anyone’s getting Trinket, it’s us.”

“You would be _so_ welcome, Effie.” Seeder added from the corner of the room where she and Mags were sitting. “We would _really_ love to have you.”

“Effie _ain’t_ going anywhere.” Haymitch grumbled. “Find yourself your own escorts and stop trying to steal mine.”

Brutus must have picked up on the game because he let out an amused snort. “Maybe Two can get her after all. I’m not sure I like Summercket.”

“_Nobody_ likes Summercket.” Chaff sympathized.

“Chaff.” Effie chided gently enough, clucking her tongue in disapproval. She lasted ten seconds before adding. “And yet she hasn’t been _too_ horrid these past few days.”

“Matter of perspectives.” Eleven’s victor mocked. “Anyone wants a drink?”

Haymitch lifted his hand with relief. He could afford a drink, he decided, just one. Just in case. His hands weren’t that steady.

It was several minutes before everyone was served with beverages that went from alcoholic to fruity.

And it was several more before Effie broke the silence that had settled on the room – a silence only troubled by the TV and the live-stream of the arena, something Haymitch could have done without.

“Finnick…” she hesitated. “I could go down with you if you need an escort to attract sponsors.”

“_No_.”

Haymitch looked at the others in astonishment, not having expected everyone to speak at the same time. It was clear the victors were all thinking the same thing though.

She was at higher risks than Viola was.

And, maybe, nobody cared about Viola as much as they cared about her.

Haymitch cleared his throat and did reach for her thigh then. He only left his hand there long enough to squeeze but it was enough to raise some eyebrows.

“The kid’s got his own escort, sweetheart.” he reminded her.

And she was sitting _right there _and she didn’t even try to give a token offer of going sponsor hunting.

“But the children…” Effie argued, glancing at the screen.

“Not ours.” he insisted.

When she met his eyes, her gaze was pained. “Does it matter?”

He opened his mouth to say yes and then closed it again when he realized that it felt wrong, all the more so in regard to the conversation they had had the previous night. It was too complicated. Escorts feeling guilt, Capitols with a conscience… He liked it better when he could cling to his black and white views. He liked it better before Effie Trinket had come and stolen that little comfort away from him. 

“It’s nice of you, Effie.” Finnick cut in. “But at this stage, the deal is done anyway. It won’t be long before the Gamemakers do something to trigger the end.”

“Yeah.” Brutus agreed. “They’re gonna want a victor by tonight. Nobody’s watching and they’re gonna hope a new victor can take the attention away from this escort business. They’ve turned it around in their favor a bit but they still don’t like it. They need a victory whatever form it takes.”

She looked dejected or maybe she felt helpless. When she excused herself to the bathroom fifteen minutes later, Haymitch followed with the vague excuse that she shouldn’t go anywhere by herself.

She wasn’t particularly surprised when he pushed into the bathroom before she could close the door. She didn’t look surprised either when he pinned her against the wall and kissed her hard, his tongue immediately seeking entrance, his hands finding her sides and then slipping a little higher… She gave as good as she got. Her own fingers immediately tangled in his hair, she angled her hips toward him…

“Did you follow me to protect me or ravish me, I wonder?” she purred in a seductive tone that he could really, _really _get used to.

“Maybe both.” he chuckled against her mouth, kissing her again just because he could.

She tugged on his bottom lip with her teeth and then licked it. “You are rethinking the few days of rest, then.”

The reminder of her injury – an injury he may or may not have forgotten about in the rush – had him sighing. He wanted her, _dammit_. He wanted her so badly…

He rested his forehead against hers, willing his body to stop rubbing against hers.

“Don’t worry about Finnick’s tribute.” he mumbled. That was what he had wanted to tell her in the first place, right? “The kid already has enough sponsoring pledges. He’s keeping the money in case his tribute really needs it. Didn’t want Brutus to know.”

“Oh.” she hummed. “Smart plan.”

“Yeah.” he nodded.

Her hands wandered from his nape down his back and then inched their way back up, her fingers tapping their way along his spine…

“Can we go back to making out?” she requested in the same tone she would have asked him to pass the coffeepot in the morning.

“Not clever.” he commented. He should let her take care of her business and they should go back to the others as soon as they could. It was safer – overwhelming to be trapped in that room with so many victors armed to the teeth, sure, but safer.

“I find I do not want to be particularly clever right now.” She grinned and he just knew at the mad twinkle in her eyes that he was going to cave.

He hadn’t really wanted to win anyway. 

Her lips brushed his and he obliged by crushing them under his. There was no finesse to the kiss, no patience, it was hard and dirty and it immediately became heated. He sneaked his hands under her shirt, trailed his palms along her soft skin until he found the lacy cups of her bra… She had hitched his own shirt up but she soon lost interest in that and followed the circle of his belt up to its buckle…

It didn’t take much more for him to start getting hard.

He drew back a little, kissed the line of her jaw, tentatively moved to her throat…

She recoiled so violently she knocked the back of her head against the wall.

“_Ouch_.” she exclaimed and immediately started coughing.

“_Shit_.” he cursed, cupping her cheek and placing his other hand on her hip, helpless to do anything but watch her try to get her breathing back under control. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Easy. _Easy_.” When she finally could breathe again and looked up at him with eyes full of pained tears that she blinked away, he winced. “Sorry. Didn’t think you… Won’t touch your throat again. _Sorry_.”

He should have known better.

Someone had _strangled _her. Of course she wouldn’t want anything near her throat, not even his lips.

“It is not that.” She shook her head, her voice hoarse. “I put the salve on it. For the swelling. Poisonous.”

Oh.

Yeah.

He rolled his eyes at his own stupidity and brushed his thumb against her cheekbone. “You’re okay?”

“I think so.” She slowly breathed out and rested her forehead against his shoulder. It was instinctive to wrap his arms around her suddenly trembling frame. “Perhaps waiting a day or two is not a bad idea.”

“You don’t say.” he snorted.

She sneaked her arm under his armpit and grabbed his good shoulder from behind, pressing herself closer. He wasn’t sure how long they stood like that, with him content to hold her even if he had to resist the urge to pet the sticky wig on her head. He wasn’t a hugger _or _a cuddler. He didn’t understand why he didn’t want to put an end to that and run away like he always did after he had sex with a woman.

They hadn’t done a bad job of dealing with their sexual tension over the years, he didn’t understand why it was becoming such a problem now. They had done the deal, wasn’t it supposed to get out of their system now? Weren’t they supposed to move on?

“What are we doing?” she whispered.

He wasn’t even surprised by the question. They were often of one mind.

“Ain’t sure.” he admitted. “Probably something foolish.”

She drew back so she could look at him in the eyes. She studied his face for a long time before she asked her next question. “Are you alright with that?”

Because he wasn’t known to do the foolish thing.

And, despite appearances, neither was she.

He shrugged. “I want you more than I want to be clever right now.” Her lips immediately stretched into a smile that she had to fight to polish it into something a little less smug. He rolled his eyes, his own mouth fighting off a smile, and kissed it away. He didn’t let it go out of control this time. “We should go back before they send a search party.”

He didn’t leave her room to disagree, he pressed a last kiss on her mouth and slipped out of the bathroom, leaning on the closed door and briefly closing his eyes to get his bearings back. 

She had a gift to turn his brain into mush.

Why did he feel like he was fifteen all of a sudden?

He hadn’t expected the door to open so soon and he almost tripped backward and fell on top of her. _The epitome of smoothness, _he berated himself and then berated himself some more for _caring _about how he looked in front of her. He wasn’t supposed to care. It wasn’t supposed to be complicated.

_Except it already was. _

°O°O°O°O°

Effie kept sneaking glances at him all the way down the corridor, blushing like a schoolgirl.

She _never_ blushed like a schoolgirl. It wasn’t like her to get so flustered about an affair – an affair that, for all intent and purpose, had to be casual. She was a level-headed person. She had listened to – and _participated _in – the most outrageous sex things without blinking. She was _not _a blushing mess.

She didn’t understand what was going on. Or, perhaps, she understood it a little too well and there was an alarm ringing in her head, warning her that she was raising her expectations too much.

It didn’t help that Haymitch not so accidentally brushed his hand against her every step they took. It didn’t help that she could smell him, the cheap soap and the whiff of whiskey, and it made her mouth water. It didn’t help that he kept tossing her lusty looks every time he thought she wasn’t watching.

This was probably a disaster in the making.

She was so focused on trying to untangle her thoughts and feelings that she almost gasped out loud when she found the living-room full of Peacekeepers. The victors were still slouching on the various couches and armchairs, she noticed, and Alyssa was sitting with her back road straight, looking a little too relieved.

Head Peacekeeper Fari was standing in the middle of the room, the only helmet free soldier.

Haymitch tensed. They both stopped on the threshold. She knew she should say something, greet the woman in Viola’s absence, embrace the role of the cheerful escort… She knew it was what was expected of her.

She couldn’t have uttered a word if she had wanted to.

Her eyes roamed over the dozen of Peacekeepers standing at attention against the opposite wall, lingered on the helmets… Some of them were the right size. Some of them might very well be…

“What the _fuck_?” Haymitch spat.

He was standing too close to her.

He was in her space, a step in front of her, her shoulder pressed against his… They were standing too close and she knew more than a person noticed. Chaff and Finnick’s gazes both studied them before moving away, the Head Peacekeeper saw it too…

It took _all _she had to collect herself, to jut her chin higher, to school her expression into something polite but neutral, to step aside so their closeness wasn’t so incriminating… It took _all _she had not to collapse on the floor and sob in terror that one of those Peacekeepers would jump on her and try to choke the life out of her again.

“Mr Abernathy.” Head Peacekeeper Fari nodded in greeting. “Miss Trinket. As I was explaining, we’re going to go back to the previous protection details arrangement.”

“You’re _fucking_ kidding me!” Haymitch scowled.

None of the victors sitting around the room seemed happy about it.

“Language.” Effie corrected automatically, locking eyes with the other woman. “May I ask why? As both Haymitch and I testified, the man who attacked me was a Peacekeeper.”

“The man was _wearing_ a Peacekeeper uniform.” Fari argued calmly.

“This is a _joke.”_ Chaff scoffed. “Lady, they’re telling you…”

“We investigated Mr Abernathy and Miss Trinket’s claims and found nothing conclusive.” the Head Peacekeeper cut him off.

“Fine.” Haymitch snorted. “Doesn’t mean we’re going back to the security details thing. If anything, that guy _still_ stole one of your uniforms. Who’s to say he won’t do it again?”

“Rest assured all precautions have been taken.” Fari answered quietly. “This new arrangement of escorts grouping on one floor with only victors for protection worries the Gamemakers. Each escort has to go back to their own floor.”

Which meant the penthouse.

Effie felt dizzy.

She wasn’t ready to face the prospect of being shadowed by Peacekeepers again and she was even less ready to go back upstairs.

“What about victors?” Brutus challenged. “We’re free to go where we want or you’re gonna send us to our room too?”

“We would prefer for victors to remain on their own floor when they’re not busy in their role as mentors.” the Head Peacekeeper said. “But nobody is forcing you to do anything.”

“Then I’m gonna stick with Twelve a while longer.” Two’s victor declared, sneering at the woman. “You did a _shitty_ job at protecting _my_ escort. I don’t trust you with this one.”

Effie truly wanted to protest the nod in her direction. It was rude. Absolutely rude. She found she still couldn’t talk.

“If you and your escort had followed protocols, it wouldn’t have happened, Mr Gunn.” Fari retorted.

Brutus abruptly stood up. It was easy to forget how big he was. But when he was angry… He seemed to fill all the space in the room, not unlike Haymitch.

Chaff stood up too, a little more slowly as if the whole thing was a huge inconvenience, and placed his stump on Two’s victor shoulder, patting it a few times. “My escort’s promoted herself to Two and the penthouse has the best liquor anyway so I’m going up too.”

“Count me in.” Finnick announced.

Fari didn’t seem pleased at all and Effie, her heart in her throat, glanced at the TV on which a flashing strip was warning of an upcoming exciting Feast.

“You should go back to your floor, Finnick.” She heard herself say. “Your tribute needs you. Thank you so much for worrying about me. Mags.” The old woman nodded at her and Effie forced a smile before turning back to address the Head Peacekeeper. “I consent to going back to Twelve’s floor but I do _not_ need a new security detail. I have Haymitch. And, as you can see, Chaff and Brutus will be with us.”

“The Peacekeepers detail is not optional, Miss Trinket, I’m sorry.” Fari replied, waving her hand without waiting for a reply. Three Peacekeepers immediately stepped forward. “It’s for your own protection. I promise the Ghosts isn’t one of us.”

“I do _not _want any Peacekeeper watching my back.” she snapped, her voice rising a touch too much. Her throat burned. _And _she knew the hysterical undertone would not play in her favor. She forced herself to get a hold on herself. She was a lady. Ladies didn’t make spectacles of themselves. “I do _not_ accept it.”

“You heard her.” Haymitch growled. “_Fuck_ _off_.”

This time, Effie didn’t bother to correct his language.

Fari didn’t even blink. “The order comes from the Head Gamemaker. If you refuse to comply willingly, you will be escorted to the penthouse by force. Of course, that also means you wouldn’t be allowed visitors. Even victors.”

“Are you saying that you are willing to put _an innocent Capitol citizen _on house arrest?” Effie laughed without mirth. “_Ludicrous_! I have done _nothing_ wrong and I refuse to…”

“I have my orders.” Fari interrupted her and then softened a little. “I understand your reluctance. I promise you, you won’t be at risk.”

She couldn’t promise that.

Nobody could promise that.

She glared at the Head Peacekeeper, torn between exploding in a fit of rage and begging for mercy. She could try calling Seneca, she supposed, but…

“She better _not_ be.” Haymitch declared, in a detached tone that rang false. “Or escorts won’t be the only ones mysteriously getting killed.”

The threat made a chill ran down her spine.

It was dangerous business to make that kind of threats. Reckless.

“Let’s go.” Chaff cut in, throwing his friend a warning look. “We ain’t gonna change their minds. Here or upstairs, it’s the same, buddy. We’re armed and we’re ready to kick that psycho’s ass so…”

He was right, of course, even though it wasn’t as much the change of venues she minded as… The three Peacekeepers they had assigned to her were all roughly the same size as the one who had assaulted her. Her mind was playing tricks, she couldn’t say for sure which one of them was closer but she knew they were close enough and…

“Let’s go.” she echoed. She tried to sound cheerful but she failed and, despite her own agreement, it was only Haymitch’s hand exercising a soft pressure at the small of her back that got her moving. 

“I hope you know what you’re doing.” Haymitch spat at the Head Peacekeeper.

He didn’t take his hand off her back.

She leaned against it the whole trip in the elevator but it didn’t make her feel much better. Her heart was hammering in her chest, her head was spinning and despite Chaff’s and Brutus’s massive presences on either side of her, she was far too conscious of the three Peacekeepers at the back of the elevator.

“I’m right here, sweetheart.” Haymitch whispered in her ear. “You’re fine.”

She closed her eyes and prayed that he was right and that she _would _be fine.

Because, right then?

Right then she felt like fainting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooopsie the Gamemakers have a plan... Is it a good plan? Is it disaster in coming? The victors army is debanded before it even took off... WHat is Haymitch's denial of the day? That they can keep it casual or that one popped stitch is nothing? Let me know your thoughts!


	16. Chapter 16

The penthouse had been cleaned. The floor was free of any trace of blood, the furniture had been straightened, and the shards of the glass she had tossed at the Ghost’s head had been swept away. Nobody could have guessed a fight had taken place right there, not under the shining veneer.

And yet Effie sat on the couch, her hands folded on her lap, her back rod straight, her eyes lost in the distance, unable to stop thinking about that afternoon. She could see it all. So clearly it was like she was back there.

She had been standing next to the window, talking to Albert, the other Peacekeeper had come in, had come closer, had pulled out that syringe and…

Her mind kept replaying it on a loop. The memory was so vivid she found herself standing next to the window at some point without remembering how she had gotten there. She had sat back down, confused and aware of the men’s eyes tracking her every move. Not just the victors’ but the Peacekeeper’s standing next to the door too.

She didn’t know where the other two Peacekeepers were and that was a source of anxiety. She imagined one of them might very well be the Ghost either planning their demise or roaming around the penthouse, perhaps rummaging through her stuff to get a better sense of…

She reached for the teapot Haymitch had ordered from an Avox after her sort-of sleepwalking stunt coming and going to the window. It had been steaming when the read-headed Avox girl had brought the tray but it wasn’t anymore, it was barely lukewarm when she tentatively touched the side of the finely painted china. She hadn’t been aware she had been sitting there staring into nothing for so long.

Her hands were shaking and the spout of the tea pot clicked against the rim of the delicate cup. The noise sounded deafening in the surrounding silence.

Haymitch and Chaff were sitting in the armchairs, a chessboard on a low table between them and Brutus was pacing the length of the bay windows like a caged lion, often glancing at the muted TV where the final tributes were getting ready for the quickly approaching designated hour of the Feast. Sundown, she thought vaguely, Caesar had said the Feast would start at sundown.

They all turned their head to stare at her at the noise, even the Peacekeeper, and she did her best to act as if she didn’t notice. Tea time was an art, a _representation_, her mother had driven into her from infancy. Her moves were graceful, confident… And yet her hands kept shaking when she used the sugar tongs to doctor the tea to her liking.

She should do something productive, she told herself as she took the first sip of tea – it was her favorite strawberry tea, the one she always drank when she was upset and she didn’t know why she was still so surprised Haymitch _knew _that. Perhaps she should go change. She was still wearing Viola’s dead tributes’ clothes despite the fact she would probably feel more comfortable in one of her own dresses. Yes, she should have gone to her room and gotten changed, maybe even take a quick shower because she hadn’t yet and…

She could still feel the weight of the Ghost on her as he pinned her down. She must have been covered with sweat and the fact that Haymitch had had sex with her when she wasn’t even _clean…_ And if she hadn’t been dirty before, she certainly was after that morning. She must have reeked when he had taken, she mused, she truly must have.

But a shower…

A shower and a change of clothes implied that she would have to go to her bedroom and that meant the Peacekeeper would follow her to stand guard at her bathroom door. She suddenly missed Albert with a pang. Albert, she had learned not to mind, he had always tried not to be intrusive. But a stranger? A _Peacekeeper? _

How could she trust…

She could feel _his _hands on her, the thick fabric of his gloves brushing against her chin as he wrapped the garrote around her throat, the hard round shape of his knee digging painfully into her back, her whole body convulsing because of the lack of air…

“Effie.” Haymitch called.

His voice was like the lash of a whip. It tore through the memories, made her startle badly enough that she spilled some tea on her borrowed slacks…

_She wasn’t breathing_.

She realized that with another start and completely panicked, already half sure the Ghost had sneaked behind her and was squeezing her throat…

“You’re having a panic attack, sweetheart.” Haymitch said.

He was sitting right next to her. How had he moved so fast? _When _had he moved? He had been on the armchair a second earlier. His right hand was on her thigh, gently rubbing her leg, she could feel the warmth of his palm through the fabric, his left one was on her back, supporting her…

A panic attack… She had never had a panic attack before. She never panicked. She was too controlled to panic. A panic attack, how ridiculous. How…

“Try to breathe slowly.” her victor insisted. “Through your nose. Easy, Princess, alright? It’s just us here. You’re completely safe. We’ve got your back.”

She followed his instructions with some difficulties, tried to match her breathing to his… It was slow and painful but her head somewhat cleared a little after a few minutes and she flushed crimson at the humiliation of it all. Chaff’s and Brutus’ gazes were both full of pity.

She didn’t dare meet Haymitch’s eyes, seeing pity there might have killed her.

She jutted her chin up in the air, reminded herself she was _Effie Trinket_, a lady if there ever was one and willed her voice to remain as steady as possible when she talked next. “The tea is _atrociously_ cold. Truly, those Avoxes are getting _worse_ by the year. It should have been served _hot_.”

Nobody was fooled, she thought, but after exchanging a look, the men allowed her the pretence.

“Tell you what, love, I’ll ask for more tea.” Chaff declared, hauling himself off his armchair. “And some sandwiches, yeah? It’s past lunch time.”

The prospect of eating anything solid wasn’t a joyful one right now. She had struggled to swallow half a muffing that morning.

“Oh, would you be _a dear_ and tell them to make me some soup instead?” she requested.

Chaff paused and she waited for the gibe, the retort that she could do that for herself, because she and Chaff had never been on friendly terms but there was still this touch of pity to his voice when he answered her. “Sure thing. I’m even gonna make sure they bring it hot just cause it’s you.”

The taunt was lacking its usual bite.

Haymitch’s hand was still on her leg and he didn’t seem in any hurry to take it away. When she finally gathered the courage to look up at him, he was watching her not with pity but worry.

“It’s alright to be scared, sweetheart.” he whispered, low enough that Brutus could pretend not to hear. Two’s victor had gone back to his pacing, using the spear like a walking stick every three steps. “What happened to you was bad. And being here… It’s gonna take time.”

_How much time?, _she wanted to ask.

“I am perfectly fine.” she lied. “I was just upset because they butchered the tea.”

“The tea that’s been sitting in front of you for half an hour?” He snorted dubiously. “Sure.”

She clenched her jaw and looked away, almost happy when Chaff came back, followed by an Avox who quickly replaced the tray on the coffee table with another one. That teapot was steaming and Effie lost no time in pouring herself a cup.

“So, Trinket… I hear you’re good at poker…” Chaff declared. “Fancy a game? I’m tired of this one kicking my ass at chess…”

It was so obviously aimed at distracting her that she forced a smile. “Why not?”

“Great!” Eleven’s victor clapped his hand and his stump together, rubbing them. “Brutus, stop digging a hole in the floor and come play strip-poker with us.”

“No strip poker.” Effie immediately countered. “I do _not_ wish to see _horrors_.”

She pursed her lips and tossed Chaff a look but he only smirked back and looked at Haymitch pointedly. “Hear that, buddy? The lady doesn’t want to see your junk.”

“I think she meant yours.” Haymitch retorted, slouching on the couch and stretching his arm on its back behind her. “Never had any complains about mine.”

“Is that so?” Eleven’s victor laughed. “You’ve got no complains about Haymitch’s junk, love?”

She didn’t bat an eyelash even as she stared Chaff down. “None whatsoever.”

Chaff hadn’t been expecting that and he choked on his own laugh before guffawing even harder. Brutus snorted in amusement and flopped down in one of the armchairs.

Haymitch had frozen right next to her but he slowly relaxed again.

“Thought it was implied we weren’t gonna advertise this…” he muttered while Chaff went in search of cards.

She breathed in the smell of her strawberry tea, letting it soothe her nerves, before taking a sip. “We slept in the same bed, Haymitch, _and _we have been joined at the hip since this morning. They are not _complete _idiots, no matter how your best friend sometimes behaves.” And yet she should have thought twice before snapping back with that kind of bombshell. “You can always tell him it was a onetime thing. I do not mind that much.”

He thought that over and then shrugged.

But, a second later, his arm left the back of the couch and wrapped around her shoulders. It was so tentative and he was so obviously self-conscious that she wondered how long it had been since he had made any display of affection in public. Still, she let him tug her into his side, not quite unhappy to be tucked against him. After a moment of hesitation, mindful of their audience, she folded her legs under her and, despite the lack of propriety of such a stance, propped her knees on the side of his thigh, and clutched her cup of tea between her hands.

Brutus either didn’t notice or didn’t care because his eyes didn’t even _stop _on them before going back to the TV. As for Chaff, he lifted his eyebrows but didn’t comment. Not even when Haymitch tossed him a challenging glare, as if daring him to say something.

It was better after that. She even managed to forget for a while.

They played poker – Haymitch cheated by peering at her cards over her shoulder every five seconds – and they ate the late lunch the Avox brought.

She let herself relax.

So, naturally, that was when fate came back to kick her in the back.

°O°O°O°O°

The light was dimming as afternoon turned into evening and Haymitch was about to stand up to turn the lights on when the phone started ringing. Next to him, Effie visibly tensed before going to answer it.

“Twelve’s floor.” she said as cheerful as ever. “Effie Trinket speaking.”

There were several pauses and limited noises of understanding on her end. Haymitch and Chaff exchanged a look.

“Brutus?” she called eventually, her voice hesitant. Two’s victor had abandoned them to their poker as soon as the Feast had started. It had developed into a final bloodbath and only Two, Four and Six were left in the running. Brutus had been staring at the TV, muttering obscenities under his breath every time his tribute didn’t do what he wanted her to. Right then, he barely glanced away from the screen. “You are needed downstairs.”

As if he had only been waiting for the excuse – because he was clearly frustrated with being stuck there while his tribute was fighting for victory – Brutus jumped to his feet. He only took one step before freezing, his eyes stopping on Effie.

She forced a smile. “We will be just fine. You should go.”

He hesitated and then made a face, glancing at Haymitch. “I’ll be back when it’s over. _Don’t_ kill the guy without me.”

Haymitch snorted. “I’m gonna try to refrain.”

“Good man.” Two’s victor nodded and then left, his spear carelessly trailing behind him.

Haymitch wondered how long it would take the Gamemakers to convince him to momentarily abandon it not to frighten sponsors. Or maybe they would turn it into a publicity stunt.

While Effie crossed the room to flick the light switch on, Haymitch hauled himself out of the couch and to the liquor cart, unable to resist the siren song of liquor any longer. Alcohol was all he had been able to think about for the last hour and it filled him with shame given the danger they were currently in. He wasn’t particularly surprised when Chaff trailed after him.

“How much do you want to bet this is a trap?” Eleven’s victor muttered under his breath so his voice wouldn’t carry to Effie.

“You don’t have anything left to bet with.” he snorted. “She wiped off the floor with you.” Chaff had clearly underestimated Effie’s skills with cards and had barely won two hands altogether. Jokes aside though… “They must have a suspect but no proof.”

“Yeah.” Chaff nodded. “I’m thinking second Peacekeepers shift or third. So it’s not too obvious.”

Haymitch nodded slowly. “Second. The guy must be nervous as hell by now. They must know. Third shift he might try to bolt and do something they can’t control. Second shift. It’s _got_ to be.”

“Were you going to warn me?” Effie whispered right behind him.

Haymitch startled badly enough that the whiskey he had just poured himself slouched over the glass and on top of his hand. “_Shit_! How are you so silent with those _fucking_ heels!”

She pursed her lips, looked him up and down with narrowed eyes and tilted her head to the side like an irritated bird. “Perhaps you should just pay more attention to your surroundings.”

“You _always _pay attention to your girl, Haymitch.” Chaff mocked mercilessly. “Didn’t I teach you anything?”

“Oh, shut up.” Haymitch grumbled. He would never live that relationship – that they _weren’t_ even in – thing down. Effie’s blue eyes were twinkling in amusement though and that had been a rare sight since the attack so Haymitch let it go. She bit down on her bottom lip thoughtfully, tossing Chaff an embarrassed glance. Haymitch sighed knowingly. “What do you want?”

She looked both a little relieved and annoyed that he had figured out she wanted something.

“I really need a shower.” she admitted.

“Wasn’t gonna say anything…” Chaff taunted. “But…”

“I really need… I _really_ need to wash yesterday off me.” she added, electing to ignore Eleven’s victor.

It would have been the perfect time for Chaff to make another crude joke but he held his tongue, understanding very well that she wasn’t talking about the previous night and what may or may not have happened between her and Haymitch.

Ideally, he’d have liked it better if they had stayed together in the living-room. The living-room, as history had proven, wasn’t easily defendable but at least there was room to fight and Chaff would be there. One of the bedrooms, while spacious, wouldn’t be the same.

Not that he had done such a good job of fighting the last time.

And he understood the need to wash something off. When he had been released from the Games Clinic after his Games, he had spent hours in the shower.

“Yeah. Okay.” he relented. “I’m gonna stay with you.” He glanced at Chaff… “You mind…”

“I’m gonna watch the end of the Games. Shouldn’t be long now.” Eleven’s victor waved his stump in the air but there was a serious expression on his face. “Don’t go getting distracted now, though.”

There would be no distractions, that much was clear when the Peacekeeper who had been standing guard in the living-room all day followed them down the corridor. There was another standing next to the elevator and another one they heard but didn’t see patrolling around the floor.

He hated it, that feeling of being trapped, of being under guard…

Effie must have felt the same because she was walking so close to him her shoulder bumped into his.

The Peacekeeper asked them to wait in the bedroom while he checked the bathroom – and Haymitch doubled checked right after him – and told Effie to be as quick as possible – something Albert-the-Peacekeeper-who-he-hoped-wasn’t-dead had repeated a thousand times in the short time Haymitch had known him. Effie nodded by pure habits and gave Haymitch a hesitant look when he didn’t move to follow her in.

“I’m gonna wait here, yeah?” he said gently, low enough that the Peacekeeper could pretend not to hear. “Guard the door for you.”

She glanced at the stranger in the Peacekeeper uniform and then winced. “I will leave it half-open, alright? Just in case.”

She quickly gathered everything she needed, from clean underwear that she did her best to hide from the guard to a new wig and disappeared in the bathroom. Regardless of if she hurried or not, he knew he was in for a long wait because getting dressed in one of her outfits alone would take time.

After a moment of consideration, he settled for lying down on the bed, the picture of relaxation – if one didn’t count the hilt of the knife in his hand. Could the Peacekeeper see it? He didn’t think so. The blade was against his upper arm, pressed between the fabric of his sleeve and his side, hidden from view but ready to be tossed. He wasn’t sure what good it would do, first because he wasn’t that good at knives tossing anymore and because history had proven those uniforms were damn resistant to blades.

To his credit, the guard seemed to understand why they were so mistrustful and hadn’t made a single comment yet.

The problem with lying on a bed while listening to the faint noises of splashing water was that it was a quick way to lull someone to sleep.

All in all, the new Peacekeeper who appeared in the frame of the door was a much needed reason to jerk a little more awake. He gripped the hilt tighter, half rising from his position…

“We’re the next shift.” the newcomer said, lifting both hands in the air. A woman’s voice came from under the helmet and her size and height wasn’t right at all for her to be the one who had attacked them the previous day. Still, Haymitch didn’t relax.

“Okay.” he said. He didn’t lie back down, he sat against the headboard, vaguely listening to the two Peacekeepers exchanging info – nothing very interesting there. Effie must have been done with the shower because the sound of splashing water had been replaced by the muffled noise of her hairdryer.

The hairdryer couldn’t cover the faint cry of pain in the distance.

Haymitch was on his feet immediately, clutching his knife.

The Peacekeeper immediately went on high alert, her hand flying to the earpiece she was wearing. “What’s going on?”

If she got a reply it wasn’t one Haymitch could hear. Of course, it was the moment Effie chose to emerge from the bathroom, her pink dress hastily zipped on, the towering puffy wig barely hanging on and her face bare of make-up. “What is happening?”

“Nothing.” Haymitch lied. “Get back in the bathroom. Finish dolling yourself up.”

She searched his face, saw the lie, went very pale but went back into the bathroom as she was told.

The Peacekeeper was still trying to reach someone when another showed up at the door. Despite everything, even if she trained her gun on him, she hesitated. Haymitch would have shot first and ask questions later.

“Hey, hey, I’m with you!” the new Peacekeepers said, lifting his hands. “I think the Ghost’s on the floor with us. Eleven’s victor got knocked out. Marco’s MIA.”

Haymitch figured Marco must be the third Peacekeeper.

The woman hesitated a moment longer and then lowered her gun, nodding at the man. She turned toward Haymitch. “Get in the bathroom with Trinket. You have to…”

It three seconds flat, it was over.

The new Peacekeeper had kicked her knee out from under her and had hit her fast across the back of the head. She went down like a bag of potatoes.

Haymitch lunged, blade first.

The Ghost hadn’t fired the gun the previous time and it was cheating, in Haymitch’s opinion, that he did it right then.

Because he had been half in the process of jumping on him, the bullet lodged itself in his side rather than in his chest. It was still enough to stop him. He collapsed in a hump on the ground, vaguely heard the stomping boots running down the corridor – or maybe it was his own blood throbbing in his ears. The Ghost tried to step over him, with whatever strength he had left he grabbed his ankle, _pulled_…

Peacekeepers rushed in the bedroom but because there was only one door and the space was limited, the Ghost had ample time to react.

And he reacted by hauling Haymitch back up and using him as a human shield. Haymitch didn’t try to get free. Even if he hadn’t been bleeding from his side, he would have kept still because of the nose of the gun currently digging under his chin.

His grey eyes found Head Peacekeeper Fari’s who was at the front of the task team.

_Shitty job_ _she had_, he mused.

“It’s over, Lydes.” the Head Peacekeeper said. “Let him go and come quietly. There’s no need for more bloodshed.”

_Like that guy wasn’t a dead man as soon as they had a clear line to shoot_, Haymitch thought, _like he didn’t know it. _

He could see Fari calculating, he could see the way her gun rose that little fraction more, he could see she was trying to determine if the helmet would protect the Peacekeeper or deflect the bullet, he could see she was weighting the risks of shooting the Ghost – Lydes? – in the head and risk killing _him_. 

She would have done it.

He thought she would have.

If Effie hadn’t barged out of the bathroom and gotten herself right between the two fractions, having clearly reached the same conclusion he had from her hiding place.

“Sweetheart…” he growled – tried to, at least, because it came out a pained raspy groan.

Her panicked blue eyes flashed to him and then to the Ghost.

“You wanted to see me, I believe.” she declared and her voice didn’t shake, didn’t break. She was just as calm and poised as she always was, barely a note of polite curiosity in her tone. “Here I am.”

Haymitch decided that if he didn’t die or pass out, he was going to strangle her himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, now... We are in trouble XD What did you think?


	17. Chapter 17

Effie was terrified sick.

But the strange thing was that she was more terrified for _Haymitch _than for her own safety. The white shirt Chaff had lent him was soaked through with blood on his left side and he looked far too pale under the neon lights.

She was acutely aware of the squad of Peacekeepers armed to the teeth behind her and even more so of the man who had tried to kill her once already and who was now standing right in front of her, clearly determined to succeed this time around. All she wanted to do was run back in that bathroom and hide until the whole thing was over but she could not, _would _not leave Haymitch behind.

“Miss Trinket.” Head Peacekeeper Fari spat. “Get out of here before…”

“I will _not_.” she snapped, jutting her chin that little bit higher. _Eyes bright, chin up, smile on_, her mother’s voice echoed crystal clear in her mind. “Lydes… It _is_ Lydes, isn’t it?”

The Ghost tightened his hold on Haymitch that little bit more. It was barely noticeable. She only _knew_ because Haymitch’s face contracted in pain and he strained his neck trying to get the nose of the gun from under his chin.

“Yeah.” the killer said.

His voice was completely normal, a slight accent, nothing out of the norm with Peacekeepers who came from Two. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting. The deep rough voice of a cartoon villain?

“Lydes.” she repeated with her most charming smile, her hands lifted in front of her to show she didn’t mean any harm. “You do _not_ wish to hurt Haymitch. It is _me_ you want, is it not?”

_Stay calm_, she told herself, _stay calm_.

“They need to back off.” the Ghost ordered. “Or…”

He jerked the gun harder against Haymitch’s throat and Effie’s hands flew higher in a futile peace offering. “They will. They _will_ leave. Or _we_ will leave. Whichever you prefer.” 

“Effie…” Haymitch muttered with obvious difficulties. “Stop… Being… Stupid…”

“You hush now.” she retorted, pursing her lips at him. He looked terrible, so terrible her heart clenched in fear that he was going to die right there, right in front of her…“You _hush_, do you hear me?”

“You will go nowhere.” Fari echoed behind her. “Step aside and let us…”

“Do you _know _how valuable a victor is?” she snapped back. “Never mind when a victor is the _only one_ a District has to boost? You can contact _anyone_ you like, I _guarantee_ they will support me in this: any victor is more valuable than an escort. Look how quickly they replaced us. You cannot replace Haymitch that easily.”

“_Bullshit_.” Haymitch mumbled.

“_Shut_ _up_.” the Ghost shouted, jerking away and dragging Haymitch two steps back with him. “We’re going. The roof. Yeah. We’re going to the roof. I’m keeping him hostage and she’s coming with me and…”

“You know it’s over, Lydes.” Fari cut him off, gently but firmly. “We know everything. You know you won’t escape again. Come in quietly and it will play in your favor.”

“What? Like _the odds_ were in my favor?” Lydes sneered. “Like they were in my little sister’s favor? In my girlfriend’s favor? That’s what those bitches always say. _May the odds be in your favor_. They weren’t in theirs, yeah? I _showed_ them.”

“You certainly did.” Effie said quickly. “Showed us, I mean. I will follow you. I will let you do whatever you want. Please… _Please_, let him go.”

The Ghost’s sneer only deepened. “That’s disgusting. You know how many victors _fuck_ escorts?” He shook Haymitch hard. “How do stand it? They’re _bitches_. The _sluts’_ hands are _fucking _red with blood! You want that on you? That gets you off?”

That man was deranged.

She had known it before, of course, you didn’t kill so many women because you were sane. But she hadn’t really understood _how deeply_ the madness – the _hatred_ – ran. The man was fractured. Whatever had happened to him – or his sister or his girlfriend – it had _shattered_ him.

And Haymitch’s sharp round of bitter chuckles wasn’t helping keeping him calm.

“And you think _my _hands are clean?” Twelve’s victor challenged. “You think _yours_ are?”

“I’m doing everyone a favor getting rid of them.” Lydes spat. “It’s their fault. _All their fault!_”

“_How?_” Haymitch insisted. “They don’t make the rules. _Fuck_, you want to kill someone who’s responsible, go for Gamemakers. Go for victors. Go for _fucking_ President Snow. Escorts are at the bottom of the food chain. Easy preys. But maybe that’s why you did it, yeah? Went for the easy target cause that’s all you can handle.”

“I’m going to _kill_ you if you don’t _shut_ the _fuck _up.” the Ghost warned. He jerked the gun so hard under his chin that Haymitch’s head flew back.

Effie could see his Adam’s apple working hard each time he swallowed, she knew he must have been in pain and only still conscious thanks to the adrenaline no doubt.

“I will come with you.” Effie promised. “Just let him go. _Let him go_.”

“So they can shoot me?” Lydes snorted. “No way. He’s coming. You’re _both_ coming. And they’re not following. If they follow, I shoot him.”

“They won’t follow.” she promised quickly. “They won’t.”

“The roof.” the Ghost hissed. “We’re going. _Now_. You go first.”

Effie turned to the Head Peacekeeper. “Let us through. Do _not _attack.”

“Miss Trinket.” she gritted through her teeth.

“Do not _dare _jeopardize Twelve’s victor’s safety.” she insisted.

Haymitch mumbled something behind her, something she was pretty sure was an order for the Peacekeepers to do something and _not_ let her jeopardize _herself _but it didn’t really carry.

Fari glared at her, glanced at the fidgeting psychopath and then clucked her tongue. “Dammit, Trinket… I hope you know what you’re doing.”

She gestured to her Peacekeepers to move back into the corridor, to back away from the bedroom…

It was a weird feeling to walk out of the bedroom and lead the way up to the roof. Unlike Haymitch, she was unrestrained but she felt trapped all the same. She could hear his labored breathing right behind her, could hear the Ghost’s heavy footsteps…

When her hand closed around the handle to the door’s roof, she briefly closed her eyes and _wished _with all she had she wasn’t making the biggest mistake of her life.

She wouldn’t let Haymitch die for her.

She _wouldn’t_.

“You lost people…” Haymitch rasped out, just as she opened the door. “You said… Sister. Girl.”

“I didn’t _lose_ them.” Lydes growled, showing him through. “The bitches _took_ them.”

The night air was almost shocking on her flushed skin. She felt delirious. _Feverish_. It wasn’t dark though, not with the lights from the city flashing in the sky. She could see both men clearly, could see the gun and the blood on Haymitch’s shirt.

“They were reaped.” Effie guessed. It wasn’t that big of a leap.

“_Shut up_.” the Ghost snapped. “_You _don’t get to talk.”

“Ain’t the escort’s fault, then.” Haymitch scoffed. “Two… Volunteers…”

Two only ever had volunteers. They had an _academy_ designed to produce the best tributes. It was always so complicated to organize Reapings in Career Districts…

“They reap a preselected pool.” Lydes snarled. “You know that.”

“Of volunteers.” Effie insisted. “Your sister and your girlfriend _had _to have volunteered.”

“I told you to shut up!” the Ghost shouted, briefly turning the gun in her direction.

Haymitch tried to take advantage of it. He must have a knife hidden in his sleeve because he twisted around and tried to stab him… The pain in his side must have been too much for such a sudden move because Lydes had no problem pinning him back against his chest. This time, he pressed the gun against the side of his head.

“You stay put or I shoot you.” Lydes warned. “I should anyway. I should have killed Brutus Gunn too. How you can _fuck_ them…”

“We’ve been over this…” Haymitch chuckled but it was fake and pained and Effie wanted to throw up with nerves because she could see he was still losing blood… “We ain’t better than they are.”

“Of course, you _are_.” Effie whispered, taking a step toward them. “I am ready now. You wish to finish what you started, do you not? You wish to strangle me.”

He _had _to strangle her because if he turned the gun on her…

“Come closer.” the Ghost ordered. “Come closer and I’ll let him go.”

“_No_.” Haymitch sounded strangely winded, panicked. “No. You said you lost people… That’s why you’re doing this, yeah? I lost my brother. Lost my mother, my girl… Lost _everyone_ I loved once. _Don’t_. Don’t make me burry another one. Don’t…”

Effie’s heart clenched and then started racing faster, so fast her head started spinning. She was so nervous her stomach was twisted in knots and she was _certain _she was going to be sick.

“Everything will be alright, darling.” she whispered – for Haymitch’s sake or her own, she wasn’t entirely sure. “Everything will be _just_ fine.”

She slowly inched closer to the two men. It was weird how everything seemed to be so much in focus. She noticed _everything_. The cool blow of the soft wind, the exact shades of the color beams in the distance, the faint beat of music that came from somewhere nearby… Everything seemed _enhanced_.

When she was close enough to touch, she stopped. “Let him go. You _promised_ you would.”

“_Effie_.” Haymitch begged, twisting in the man’s grip, trying to hit him, to gain time for her, _something_… “Effie, run. _Run_.”

“Ladies never run.” she retorted. “They _endure_.”

The Ghost tossed Haymitch to the side like he was a sack full of potatoes.

In the short seconds that it took him to fling her victor away, Effie abruptly pulled back and reached for her wig.

Startled, the man made a grab for her and found himself with the business end of a small pink handgun pointed at him.

She didn’t give herself the opportunity to think.

She pulled the trigger again and again and again and again until the gun clicked empty every time she pressed her finger.

The Ghost was down – still breathing, barely knocked out,, but _down_ – and she kicked his own gun as far away from him as she could.

There was a loud sound of metal being broken down and Peacekeepers invaded the roof, led by Fari. Because of the gunshots, she supposed.

Effie rushed to Haymitch’s prone form and skidded to her knees next to him. It hurt. Her skin got scratched. And she didn’t want to care because they had just escaped _a serial killer _but she did because it _hurt_ and it was _distracting_ and Haymitch was _bleeding out_ and _she didn’t know what to do_ and…

There was another gunshot and she looked up to see the Ghost had stopped breathing and never would again. She had aimed at his chest and, at such a close range, it had been enough to take the breath out of him despite the bulletproof uniform, maybe one bullet or two had even made it home, but Fari had kicked his helmet off and had shot him right in the head and there was no protection from _that_. The spectacle was gruesome to the extreme.

Another Peacekeeper kneeled down next to her and she startled badly but the man ignored her, turned Haymitch on his back and pressed on the wound on his side.

“Haymitch.” she whispered, cupping his cheek. His eyelids were fluttering open and closed as if he was trying to focus on her. He tried to say something but it came out a gurgle and her eyes filled with tears. “Haymitch, _please_, do not die on me. _Please_. I… I…”

A medic team rushed on the roof, pushed her away and started working on him, cutting his shirt with scissors, shouting at each other for constants and pads and meds…

Peacekeepers were shouting at each other’s too. Fari was talking into her radio, probably reporting to Seneca or someone higher on the food chain…

So much noise…

She pressed her hands against her ears, curled up with her legs against her chest, barely realizing how cold the concrete ground was under her butt. She could still see Haymitch’s face, his closed eyes, his shallow breaths…

She started crying. Ugly heavy sobs that made it so hard for her to breathe because of her bruised throat…

“Don’t die.” she told him over and over again even though he probably couldn’t hear her. “Don’t die_. Don’t die_.”

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there watching. It must have been minutes but it felt like hours by the time sometimes wrapped a blanket around her and she found herself encased in strong arms, one of them shorter than the other.

“It’s gonna be okay, love.” Chaff’s familiar voice promised in her ear. “You’ll see. Our boy’s too stubborn to die like that. He’s gonna be fine.”

She didn’t like Chaff on his best day.

But, right then, he was probably the only person in the world who cared for Haymitch as much as she did – who _loved _him as much as she did – and so she turned around, locked her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder.

“Easy.” he groaned. “Got a bump on my head the side of District Seven. Good thing they got the bastard or I’d have skinned him alive.”

“I shot him.” she told him and, as if the words made it more _real_, it _sank in_ what she had just done. She had shot a man. She, who had always been so certain she would never be able to hurt a fly, _had shot a man_. She started shivering. “I shot him with Viola’s gun.”

Chaff froze for a second and then wrapped her tighter in the blanket. Probably because her shivers were turning into whole body shudders, she thought. He shifted so he had one leg on either side of her too, pressed his stump on her back of her head so she was facing away from the medics and Haymitch, so her head was resting against his chest…

It was an intimate embrace and not one she would have allowed if…

“Good job, love.” Chaff praised gently. “Good job. Can I get some help over here?” She tried to whirl her head around, scared that it was about Haymitch, that… Chaff was holding her too tight his voice immediately turned soothing again. “Everything’s fine, love. Everything’s fine. You try to relax.” She was still shuddering hard and she was aware someone was towering over the two of them. She could feel the rumble of Eleven’s victor’s voice against her ear when he spoke. “She’s going into shock.”

“I am _not_.” she tried to protest. “I need… _Haymitch_…”

“Don’t you worry about Haymitch…” he told her in that same gentle tone. “I’ve got him. I’ve got both of you. You just rest now. You did good, love. You did _very_ good.”

She had shot a man.

She wasn’t sure _how_ that qualified as _good_.

But there was a prickle on her neck, a syringe she hadn’t seen coming, and next thing she knew she was slowly falling into a deep warm slumber against Chaff’s chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only the epilogue left! I hope you enjoyed this chapter? As I said in the first chapter, it was my first foray (is that the right spelling) into thriller genre so I hope it wasn't too bad! Tell what you liked or didn't like! Was Effie bad ass? Did Haymitch indirectly confess or did I blink XD? Is Chaff warming to our favorite escort? Let me know your thoughts!


	18. Chapter 18

Effie made sure the flower arrangement looked perfect on the bedside table before surveying the man lying on the hospital bed. He still looked far too pale for her liking.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, taking a seat on the uncomfortable chair left for visitors at his bedside. She immediately smoothed her lovely pink skirt, noticing that her nail polish was chipped on her thumb and needed to be fixed as soon as possible.

“Better.” Albert replied with a small smile. “They’re going to let me out soon.”

She answered his smile with a genuine one of her own. “I hear you are being promoted.”

Albert chuckled and then immediately pressed a hand against his chest where the wound must still be troubling him. “Thanks to your stellar review of my bodyguard abilities. I’m being assigned to the Head Gamemaker’s security detail as soon as I’m recovered.”

She may or may not have put a word in the right ear but she dismissed that with a graceful wave of her hand. “It is well deserved.”

“I’ll turn it down if you still want a bodyguard, you know.” he joked.

At least, she _hoped_ he was joking. 

Two weeks since the Ghost was dead, two weeks since she had been free to walk around unsupervised… It had taken gotten used to. Being alone again. Being allowed to do whatever she wanted without having to inform anyone. Not having anyone shadowing her everywhere, not being afraid of getting attacked in the street…

She hadn’t been the only one disturbed by the sudden return to normal. On that first morning of freedom, Viola and Livia had fetched her from the Games Clinic and had led her, still stunned from the previous evening events, to the Training Center’s lobby where they had joined Seven’s and Eight’s escorts. The last surviving escorts from the previous year. The five of them had stepped outside together, feeling very much like they were stepping out into a strange brand new world.

They had walked for hours or, at least, that was what it had felt like.

They had visited shops with some hesitancy because they hadn’t been allowed to do that by themselves in forever, had bought far too much stuff they did not need, had treated themselves to lunch in a trendy coffee shop, had posed for pictures and signed autographs… It had all felt so surreal that Effie had still been dizzy when they had finally made their way back to the Center – or, in her case, to the Games Clinic where Chaff had greeted her with a nod and a coffee.

“Do not take it the wrong way because I am forever grateful for everything you did for me but if I do not see another Peacekeeper again, I will be happy.” she answered. “I felt like a prisoner who has just been released.”

Albert looked understanding enough. Probably because he had spent all those months with her, had watched her struggle to accept the necessary protections, had done his best to make the best of a bad situation…

“Too bad.” He shrugged. “I bet Crane doesn’t look as pretty as you first thing in the morning.”

She openly laughed, not about to pass on a compliment. “You would be surprised.”

Albert’s smile had dimmed a little. He studied her for a moment, his expression turning a little too knowing. It wasn’t that surprising. You didn’t live with someone for three months and not learn to know them very well “How are _you_ doing?”

The mask fell on her face by reflex. Her eyes brightened, her lips stretched into a smile and her voice took that bubbly peppiness she was famous for. She knew the act by heart, she had been playing it on countless TV shows for the last fortnight, recounting the tale of that night with flourish and lots of detail, downplaying her part and singing the praise of the Peacekeepers.

“Oh, _quite _well, thank you.” she answered. “A little irritated that Viola saved my life, however indirectly. She has been _insufferable._”

Albert snorted, well-acquainted with Viola’s annoying behavior from the months of following her around. “I’m glad she did.”

“As I am.” she sighed, shaking her head. “_Unfortunately_. She will _never _let me hear the end of it.”

She wasn’t sure Albert was entirely fooled by the act but she wasn’t about to tell him about the nightmares that left her waking up screaming, drenched in sweat. She had gone back to sleeping pills again and she simply _knew _it was a slippery slope that could land her in trouble quickly. She found them too easy to swallow, to easy to rely upon… She had narrowly avoided addiction once, she was a little too afraid she wouldn’t have the strength to stop when it grew out of hands this time.

“And how’s your hero?” he asked, his voice dripping sarcasm.

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at him in warning, not keen on having an argument. “Haymitch was released a few days ago. He will have to stay in the city for a little while, to make sure there is no complication with his recovery.”

And she couldn’t say she was sorry about that. As eager as she was to return to her own apartment, she didn’t mind staying in the penthouse a while longer if it meant being with him.

Haymitch had been in surgery for half the night and, fortunately, she had missed most of it since she had been sedated. She didn’t think she would have been able to bear it in the state she had been in. She had woken up to Chaff, a white bandage wrapped around his head, perched on the edge of her hospital bed. She remembered thinking worry made him look older.

The surgery had been delicate work but Haymitch had been lucky because the bullet had barely _grazed _his spleen. A little more to the right and he would have been in_ a lot_ of troubles. The doctors in the Games Clinic were the best though, they had brought more than one new victor back from the doors of death – including Haymitch himself once when he had been gutted by an axe so long ago.

“If you’re playing nurse, he’s a lucky guy.” Albert replied, not quite as lightly as she would have liked.

“Albert.” she warned.

The Peacekeeper snorted and then shrugged, bitterness and regret all over his face. “If things had been different… If I wasn’t… You know, forced to remain celibate, and you weren’t so… Out of my league. I’d have asked you out.”

And she would have laughed in his face because as sweet and kind as he was, he still didn’t look handsome enough for her to have given him a second glance. Effie was aware of her own flaws and she was shallow. She liked her partners to be handsome because she considered herself handsome. She liked beauty.

“I would have liked that.” she lied.

“You’re too nice.” Albert answered, probably not believing her. “And you deserve better than him.”

She thought back to the night after the first attack, to what Haymitch had told her…

_We ain’t good people, you and I. We ain’t. We can tell each other otherwise until we’re blue in the face, we’re not stupid enough to fall for it. We ain’t good people. Doesn’t mean we have to be bad ones._

The smile that graced her lips was a bit wistful but not sad or bitter. She had made her peace with it.

“I think we deserve each other, actually.” she offered.

For better or for worse.

°O°O°O°O°

Haymitch’s whole body ached every time he moved and it was irritating. The pain, at least, was a dull thing easily ignored by then, a daily dose of painkillers and a reasonable amount of self-medication – meaning the bottle of rum Finnick had sent him and that he was trying to make last because it was the _really_ good stuff – took care of that. But nothing really made the _ache _go away.

His shoulder itched where the stitches had fallen off and there was a twinge in his side each time he shifted in his armchair. All perfectly normal as the doctor who came to check on him twice a day had certified that morning – it was one visit too many in Haymitch’s opinion but it turned out Effie had been right when she had said victors were all the more valuable when they were the only one in their District; the Gamemakers seemed terrified of having to deal with the mess of a District without official representation.

The elevator chimed and he perked up, tossing the book that couldn’t really keep his attention on the coffee table. More than anything, he was bored. And boredom made him grumpy.

He had hoped for Chaff but Effie gliding in the penthouse’s living-room, blinding in a shockingly glaring pink short dress, was even better. Even with the make-up, her face visibly brightened when she spotted him on the armchair. Her lips stretched into one of those big genuine smiles that made his heart clench in his chest and then race up as if to catch up.

“You are up!” she exclaimed.

And not a moment too soon, in his opinion. He had remained on bed rest for _far _too long, first in the Clinic and then in the penthouse, only allowed to stand up under medical supervision to build his strength back or whatever _bullshit_ his physical therapy was supposed to be. Effie’s fussing had irritated him all the more because of it. He didn’t like lying down and staring at the ceiling with nothing to distract him from his dark thoughts.

“Doc says it’s time I do some physical activity.” He smirked. “Any idea?”

She rolled her eyes but her smile didn’t waver, even as she placed her purse down and took off her white lace gloves. He wasn’t sure she would answer his innuendo but she did open her mouth only to close it with a frown and hurry to the other side of the living-room to pick dead flowers from a bunch of white roses in a vase. She clucked her tongue and muttered under her breath about Avoxes and tasks left half-done.

Haymitch wrinkled her nose. “Let them all die.”

He could have done _without _having to see the congratulatory flowers President Snow had sent Effie after the whole ordeal. He hated the smell of white roses.

Effie pursed her lips but stopped fretting over how imperfect the flower arrangement looked. She let out a sigh and turned to him. “Are you so eager for my attention that you are jealous of a bunch of flowers?”

He was eager for her attention alright.

It was the first day he hadn’t felt like puking once he was standing upright. He was even feeling a little hungry.

“How’s the Peacekeeper puppy?” he challenged.

Her blue eyes twinkled with mirth as she slowly crossed the room with an exaggerated swing to her hips. “Perhaps it is not the flowers you are jealous of after all.”

“Ain’t _jealous_.” he scoffed.

“Albert did not benefit from the same level of care you did so his recovery is much slower, if you must know.” she answered. He wasn’t surprised to hear it. Injured Peacekeepers probably had access to good medical care but not the Games Clinic or the latest of the Capitol technology. All thoughts of Peacekeepers who looked at her with enamored eyes fled his mind when she – carefully – straddled his lap. She tucked both of her legs between his thighs and the armrests, forcing him to squeeze his legs shut to give her some room. His hands automatically found her waist right when she loosely looped her arms around his neck. “And how are _you _feeling today, Haymitch?”

It was a bit embarrassing that he had so much trouble _swallowing_.

“Much, _much_ better now, sweetheart.” he teased, letting his hands travel down to grope her.

Her lips twitched, her blue eyes twinkled… But under the amusement there was something deeper, _rawer_. Yearning. Lust.

“Is that so?” she hummed, rocking her hips once.

It was tentative and she was watching his face like a hawk, ready to bolt at the smallest trace of discomfort, he was sure. There _would_ be discomfort if he insisted on having sex with her, he figured, maybe even some pain but…

“Better make the most of it.” he answered, his fingers ghosting a path under her dress on the back of her thigh. “Crowning’s over, I’m better… They won’t let me stay forever.” He shrugged, faking detachment. “Guess we can get another week. Two maybe.”

And then he would go back to Twelve and he wouldn’t be back in the city until… 

“You could visit for the Tour.” she suggested. Her fingers were nervously playing with the collar of his shirt and she was staring at the light blue cotton rather than at him. Whatever sexy energy had animated her, it had faded away. She was a little too serious for his taste right then.

It wasn’t a conversation he had intended to have that day but, he figured, they needed to have it at some point.

“I could…” he agreed, surprising even himself. He had been asked to come to the city for the Tour a few times before but he had never spontaneously made the request. “But…”

“But it would raise questions.” she finished for him, nodding. “Yes. Of course.”

She looked up at him then, forcing a bright blinding smile on her lips. He hated that smile. It was fake and too much her public persona. He liked her genuine smiles better.

He brushed his fingers against her mouth, gently erasing the escort from it. “You get why it has to be like that, yeah?”

He couldn’t risk her.

He couldn’t risk anyone figuring out he might care for her – _hell_, if they hadn’t _already_. He couldn’t bear the thought of her being in danger because of him. It had been terrible enough to know she might get killed even though it had nothing to do with him.

“I do.” Her voice was low but not quite a whisper. Resigned maybe. This time, the smile she forced wasn’t quite her escort smile, it was just a little sad. “We will see each other at the next Reaping then.”

“Yeah.” He sighed. It sounded sad too.

She nodded, still fingering the collar of his shirt. “You should know… You should know I do not expect anything from you. A year is a long time…”

“Less than a year.” he corrected. It was a technicality really. A little over ten months.

“It is still a long time.” she insisted, shifting a little on his lap. Her legs must have been getting numb, he mused. “I do not expect you to wait for me.”

She made it sound gracious.

A part of him rebelled at what was clearly a _permission _because he didn’t feel like it was hers to give. He had promised her nothing, after all.

Another part recognized that as an attempt to save face, not to have to face the humiliating experience of him telling her he wanted this to remain without strings.

“Twelve’s a small place, you know.” he said casually. “There’s not a lot of prospects for lovers back home.” Her whole body tensed and then relaxed with obvious relief once she understood what he was saying. He cleared his throat, looked away… “Ain’t the same in the Capitol though, I know…”

“I would say!” Her laugh was fake but betrayed some genuine happiness. “Although after the last couple of months… I believe I will not want company for a long, _long _time. Perhaps for a whole year, even. Well… A little less than a year.”

His mouth twitched and he couldn’t help his smirk. “You _don’t_ say.”

“I _do _say.” she teased, finally leaning down to brush her lips against his. “Not that it means anything serious.”

He snorted. “No. Can’t have _that_.”

And it was a short-term solution, in any case…

But unless something big enough to upset the current status quo and bring down the Capitol came up… Short-term was all they could hope for.

They would simply have to make the most of it.

He certainly intended to try…

** THE END  **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's the end! I hope you enjoyed this ride! Please do let me know your thoughts!
> 
> Since I know you I know you're probably wondering "what's next?" so what's next is that I found this list of 156 aesthetics for otps and I kinda wanted to write them so I have three of various lengths so far. Probably you should watch out for updates on Fridays after the holidays ;)
> 
> It's a double post day today so don't miss out on part 3 of the Christmas story!
> 
> Thank you for all your reviews! I don't answer here because the ff interface is really not reply friendly but I read and cherish all of them I promise!

**Author's Note:**

> Loved it? Hated it? Let me know!


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